A Tale of Two Brothers
by Pepin-Bones
Summary: Sting is outshined by his younger brother without him even trying. But when fate throws the brothers on a path neither of them expected, what will become of them? This is the story following the brothers Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Hitsugaya. Credit for the Cover Image goes to Micha19 on DeviantArt.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I don't usually put these here, but in order to avoid confusion, I figured I should. This story begins 400 years "in the past" before Sting has met his dragon and therefore before the dragon slayers have been sent to the future. Enjoy!_

* * *

Wren Eucliffe looked up to his older brother. At the young age of 3, he didn't know what else to do. Their parents loved them, of course, but there was something about his brother's "tough guy" attitude that he wanted to emulate. He wanted to be carefree and playful, but his parents had other plans for him. "You're a prodigy, Wren! You're so talented! You're gifted! You can't waste your gifts!" they would say, showering him with praise when all he wanted to do was play like any normal 3-year-old would want. Instead, he trained. He showed natural talent in virtually everything he attempted whether it was martial arts, sword fighting, or even in his mental acuity. He had been advanced in everything from the time he was a tiny tot, tumbling around on stubby arms and legs, practically running the moment he could stand. He was too young to understand what this did to his older brother, watching from the sidelines. He didn't see the hurt that would flash in his brother's blue eyes when their parents would ignore him in favor of Wren. He didn't notice the way his brother trained and worked hard for hours on end to accomplish the same things that Wren could seemingly do effortlessly.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?" their father demanded one night, glaring at Sting from over the table. Wren had just been taken to bed by his mother, so the two were alone.

Sting glared at his father across the table, pushing his peas around on his plate with his fork. _Wren even eats his vegetables better than me,_ he grumbled in his head. "We can't all be perfect," he ground out in response to his father's question, refusing to look him in the eye.

His father, his hair as blonde as Sting's, sighed, drawing Sting's eyes up. They were practically mirror images of each other, while Wren took after their mother – white hair and turquoise eyes that made men and women alike fall in love. "I won't have you talk about your brother like that."

"Why not?" Sting snapped, tossing his fork angrily onto his plate. "You and mom practically worship the ground he walks on!"

His father paused, clearly taking a moment to formulate his response, as he calmly set his fork down on his plate and pushed himself back from the table. "Your brother has some natural talents that we cannot ignore, Sting. We would do the same to you if you were in his position."

"But he's only 3-years-old! Don't you think you're robbing him of his childhood?"

It was a mature question, coming from a 10-year-old. "Wren's not like other children," Sting's mother was the one to answer quietly, as she slipped back into the kitchen from putting Wren to bed. "You of all people should understand that, Sting." She came to him with a smile, always the one to smooth things over between her husband and her oldest son, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "And you are special in your own way. We don't love you any less."

Sting's bright blue eyes searched the teal eyes of his mother, looking for the truth in her words. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to feel loved. He knew they loved him, but he also knew he came second to his younger brother, and that thought tore him up inside no matter how they tried to dress it up. "Why are we so different, Mom?"

His mother's smile softened but did not disappear as she shrugged. "Wren was just chosen to be different." She gently touched him on the tip of his nose before running her fingers through his unruly blonde locks. "It makes no more sense to us than it does to you, or it does to your brother."

"Then why don't you let him act like a normal kid?"

"Is that really what this argument is about?" his mother wisely questioned.

 _No._ Sting swallowed.

"Tell you what. How about tomorrow, you and Wren go to the park, just you two. You look after him. Be the big, strong brother I know you are. And when you get back, we'll all get ice cream."

Sting's face erupted into a smile. "Really?"

She pinched his cheek. "Really."

Sting threw his arms around his mother's waist and closed his eyes. His mother always made him feel better. She always soothed his wild emotions. He didn't know what he would do without her. "Thanks, Mom!"

"I love you, Sting," she whispered, squeezing him back just as tightly as he squeezed her. "Don't forget that."

His smile grew. "I love you too."

* * *

The next morning, Wren woke Sting up bouncing on his bed. "Brother! Brother! Wake up! It's morning!"

"What? Wren? Get out of here!" Sting snapped, swiping at his brother. Wren easily jumped out of the way and bounded right back next to his head.

"But it's time to get up! Time to go to the park!"

"What time is it?" Sting grumbled, slowly opening one eye to peer at his bouncing brother. Wren's hair stuck out at every odd angle, his teal eyes wide and sparkling with delight. His pajamas were all askew and only one foot was covered in a sock.

"It's seven o'clock!" Wren proudly exclaimed.

Groaning, Sting buried his head back under his pillow. "It's too early for the park, Wren!"

"No it's not!" Wren argued, leaping over his brother's back to bounce on the other side of his bed. "Come on! Mommy promised!"

"Mommy isn't the one who has to take you!" Sting snapped. At the sight of Wren's quivering chin, he immediately regretted his words. "Crap, I'm sorry, Wren," he apologized, sitting up and pulling his brother into his arms.

"Does this mean we're going to go now?"

"Ugh," Sting groaned, shoving his brother from his arms. The little guy was resilient, he had to give him that. Wren hit the bed flat on his back and was immediately up, jumping on his feet once again. "Let me eat first, all right?" he bargained.

"Kay!" Wren yelled, launching himself from the bed and into the air. If it were anyone else, Sting would be worried, but instead he just watched as his brother did a neat little front flip in the air before landing softly on his feet, his back knee bending and almost touching the floor to absorb the impact. "Mom! Brother wants breakfast!" he yelled, immediately tearing off down the hallway.

Sting managed to contain his brother's excitement for another two hours before getting dragged to the park. They lived relatively close by, so the walk didn't take long, but Wren still ran ahead, jumping over bushes and behind trees, before running back to his brother, and then taking off again. Before he knew it, Sting was joining him in the fun, chasing make believe spirits and hiding from evil spirits that wanted to take their souls before lashing out with sticks for swords to save the innocent civilians from these monsters. It ended up taking them a lot longer than expected to get to the park, but for once Sting didn't mind. Without their parents around, he enjoyed his brother's company. He loved his little brother – he was active, imaginative, and had a lust for life that seemed well beyond his 3 years. Being in his presence made even Sting feel older sometimes, but not in a bad way. As they arrived at the park and found they were the only ones there, it only made it that much easier to continue their game until they both collapsed into the grass, panting and laughing.

"You're so much fun, Big Brother!" Wren exclaimed, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for breath, but his face was covered in a wide smile.

"You two, Bud!" Sting wholeheartedly returned the sentiment.

They continued to lie on their backs in the grass, their eyes on the flawless blue sky above, before Sting sat up. "You want to see something?" he asked, his eyes flashing mischievously.

Wren immediately sat up, excited. "Yes!"

Sting jumped to his feet and ran to the largest and tallest tree he could find. The branches didn't come down very low, but he could either lift Wren up to them, or Wren would find his own way up – he knew he would. "I want to show you what the town looks like from up here," he explained to his little brother.

Wren stood at the base of the tree; his eyes wide in wonder as he tilted his head back to take in the height of the massive tree before them. Some branches were as thick as he was! Immediately, his eyes started to scan the branches, searching for the route he would take up. He settled on a path after only a moment's observation. Sting patiently waited, watching cautiously as his brother made his way to the lowest branch with a look of sheer determination on his face. "Let me treat you like a big brother should," Sting said, and without giving him time to respond, picked him up, lifting him above his head as best he could. Wren immediately grabbed the branch Sting held him up to and pulled himself onto it.

"Thanks, Big Brother!"

Smiling, Sting simply nodded and watched his brother climb up a few feet before jumping up after him. He wanted to be there in case he fell.

Wren didn't fall, and neither did Sting. They made it as high up as they dared, the branches bowing somewhat under Sting's weight. "Wow!" Wren exclaimed, pointing with wide eyes. "You can see the whole town from here!"

Sting's smile matched his brother's. Not so much because of the view, but because his brother was enjoying the view so much. He'd seen it all before. It was when his brother gasped and shook the branch he stood on that he really started to pay attention. "Brother, look!" Wren shouted, his voice high out of fear.

Sting followed Wren's pointed finger and his eyes widened, his mouth falling open. His heart fell into his stomach as the breath was stolen from him. "No," he breathed, his eyes immediately burning.

"I-is that o-our h-house?" Wren stuttered, his eyes wide in horror as he blinked as though to clear his vision.

Even if he tried to, he couldn't speak. Sting simply stared at the sight before him in utter shock. There was no mistaking it. The smoke rising into the sky, the sky that had been a flawless blue but was now saturated with a heavy gray smoke, was coming from their house. Their house was in flames, not just small flames – _engulfed_ in hungry flames that licked the sky.

"Brother!" Wren shrieked, tears streaming down his face when he realized Sting was quickly descending the tree.

"Come on, Wren! We have to go! Now!" Sting shouted.

Wren swallowed, his entire body numb and shaking, and quickly made his way down the tree. He was uncoordinated in his fear and slipped several times, scraping the palms of his hands on the rough bark of the tree, but he scarcely noticed. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked as he gasped for breath. _Mommy! Daddy!_ He no sooner reached the ground than Sting grabbed his hand, gripping it firmly and fiercely, and took off at a dead run for home. He ran so fast he practically dragged Wren behind him, fear driving him faster than ever before. _Mom! Dad! Please be all right!_

They rounded the final bend to their home on legs that shook and lungs that screamed for air. Sting saw the destruction of their home and staggered, his knee slamming into the ground painfully, but forced himself back up for his brother's sake. Like Wren, his entire body was shaking, the only thing keeping his hand from shaking was the fierce grip he held on Wren's hand. Both of them gasped for breath, their ragged breathing loud despite the screams and noises coming from around them. Sting's eyes darted around them, searching for his parents. Wren cried silently beside him.

"Boys!" someone shrieked, running over to them. Sting turned at the voice, immediately knowing it did not belong to his mother. "Thank goodness you're all right!" It was their neighbor, Mrs. Abana. She bent down and immediately scooped Wren up into her arms. Sting was both relieved and upset by that movement – she took the one thing comforting him, but his brother needed her more than he needed him, so he turned away.

"Where are our parents?" he asked, his voice soft.

Mrs. Abana stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, turning him and pulling him to her side. He came stiffly, not able to pull his eyes from the flames before him. "We haven't found them yet, Sting." Her voice broke. "We fear they may still be inside."

She no sooner said the words than Sting slipped from her grasp, running towards the flaming fury of his home. "Mom! Dad!" he shouted, feeling the heat when he was still over twenty yards away. He put an arm up to shield himself from the inferno, but pressed onward. Several neighbors had formed a fire line, bailing buckets of water onto the fire in an attempt to put it out, but the house was gone. The fire had taken over the frame, the roof was being eaten through, and most of the windows had already broken. He wanted to go in and look for them, but he didn't see how, so he slipped around back. "Mom! Dad!" he tried again.

The fire wasn't as bad on the rear of the house, and this time he got closer, pressing his hand against the wood before pulling it away as his skin burned. "Ow!" he hissed, shaking his hand.

"What are you doing?! Get away from there, Boy!" someone shouted. Sting ignored him. "Hey! Do you want to die?!"

"Where are my parents?!" Sting bellowed, his blue eyes flashing with a white light.

Someone else joined the man in approaching Sting, their hands held up in front of them. Sting noticed too late when their eyes darted to the side with a quick nod. He was vaguely aware of somebody muttering, "I'm sorry about this," before a blanket was thrown over him and all he could see was darkness. Strong arms surrounded him, pinning his arms to his sides as he thrashed and tried to free himself. Then a quick pain erupted in his head as he was struck with something, before he slipped into a black void of emptiness.

* * *

When Sting came to, he was first aware of the searing pain in his head. His eyes fluttered before they opened, and the first thing he saw was Wren's bright teal eyes, which widened with relief once he saw him.

"Brother," Wren sobbed, dropping his head to his older brother's chest.

Sting looked at his brother, feeling oddly detached, before he sat up and looked around him. "Where are we?" he demanded, his voice as raw as his throat.

Mrs. Abana appeared, holding her hands up. "Sting, I'm sorry about them hitting you, but it was for your own safety."

Scowling, Sting said nothing and looked down at his younger brother. "Are you okay, Wren?" he asked softly. Wren nodded softly, but buried his face back into his chest. Sting wrapped his arms around him protectively. "Where are our parents?"

Mrs. Abana sighed. "There's no easy way to tell you this, Sting." Tears shone in her eyes. She had been their neighbor for longer than Sting had even been alive. "Once they got the fire out, they found two bodies inside." She paused, waiting for the light of realization to dawn in Sting's eyes. It did, and his eyes widened. "The rings found on their fingers match your parents'." She shook her head as she dabbed at her eyes. Her breath hitched as she came forward to pull the brothers into her arms. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Tears stung Sting's eyes but wouldn't fall. He rested his cheek against Mrs. Abana's shoulder, but his mind was not on her comforting embrace, nor was it on his brother, cradled in his arms. _What do I do now? We're… orphans?! I have to take care of Wren! I have to support the both of us! But I'm only 10! What do I do?!_

* * *

 _A/N: This is my first ever cross over, featuring Fairy Tail and Bleach. This features Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Histugaya, who originally (and this will be explained/become clear later on) is Wren if you didn't figure that out from his description._ _There are some "Easter Eggs" hidden in here for what's to come and hinting toward their futures as we know them... Let me know if you spotted them! ;)_

 _This idea was entirely created by **ThunderLordess** and **Beastly-x-Kettan** (on DeviantArt) - I was just recruited for the writing. I hope you enjoy! There will definitely be more to come!_

 _The usual disclaimer, I do not own Bleach or Fairy Tail or any of their characters. They belong to Tite Kubo and Hiro Mashima respectively._


	2. A Brother's Promise

The days immediately following the tragic deaths of their parents passed in a blur. Mrs. Abana graciously handled most of the arrangements, taking the burdens on herself rather than forcing them onto the young boys. Wren withdrew into himself, his normally bright and inquisitive eyes growing dark – especially after he demanded to see the charred remains of his parents, and Sting had obliged him.

"What's the matter with you?!" Mrs. Abana had shrieked the moment they came through the front door. Wren was in tears, sobbing inconsolably as he fought for breath through his sorrow. The toddler had been unable to walk or see straight through his tears and Sting had had to carry him back. The sound of pure agony that had ripped from his brother's throat at the sight of their parent's burnt bodies still made a chill ripple down his spine. The sight of Wren's small and shaking outstretched hand reaching for the crisp hand of their mother still tore at Sting's heart. It was that movement that had prompted him to scoop his younger brother up in his arms and finally leave the macabre scene before them.

"He wanted to see them!" Sting had defended his actions despite his brother's reaction. He knew Wren. Wren had needed to see them for himself.

"Of course he did! He's 3-years-old!" Mrs. Abana hollered, wanting to smack Sting but successfully restraining herself – he wasn't her child after all. "You don't show a 3-year-old something like that! He's going to have nightmares for months!"

Sting pulled his grief-stricken brother tighter into his arms as though to shield him from the protection of their neighbor. "Wren isn't your average 3-year-old!" he argued.

"Then would you mind explaining to me why he's blubbering all over the place?"

Perhaps for the first time since arriving back at her home, Wren clenched Sting's tear-soaked shirt in his hands and buried his face in his chest. "I-I-I'm s-sorry, B-big Brother," he sobbed. "I n-needed t-to see them."

Gently stroking his back, Sting shot daggers at Mrs. Abana with his eyes. No one understood Wren like he did, like their parents did – or rather, had. What were they going to do without them? "I know you did," he soothed, daring Mrs. Abana with his fierce eyes to say something. _We've overstayed our welcome…_

That night, after Sting had finally gotten Wren to sleep, he crept into the kitchen for some tea, sensing Mrs. Abana's desire to speak with him. She sat at the table, waiting for him, two steaming cups before her. Her eyes were calm and sad when she looked at him, but there was a sternness in her features that Sting hadn't seen since the incident with their parents even began. She was slipping back into her neighborly role and he had a feeling he knew where this was going, an uneasy feeling settling into his stomach. "Sting," she began, waiting for him to sit. "What are your plans?"

Sting cautiously pulled the mug of tea closer to him, wishing he could disappear into the light brown liquid. He was tired… "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to dodge the question.

Mrs. Abana was nearly old enough to be their grandmother – she understood children better than Sting knew, despite not having any herself. "You know you and your brother are welcome here for as long as you need, but what are you going to do?" She paused, gauging his reaction carefully. He showed none. "Your parents' funeral is tomorrow. Where do you plan to go?"

Sting swirled the liquid in his cup distractedly. It was a question he had given much thought to over the past few days. From the moment he understood it was going to be just him and Wren, he had wondered what he should do and where they should go. They had no other family to go to. He thought they might be fine with Mrs. Abana, but her reaction to Wren's curiosity proved that theory wrong. "I'll take care of Wren," he answered softly.

"How?" she asked, just as softly. There was not a hint of reprisal in her voice.

Anger swept through Sting with such force his vision went white, causing him to flinch, which only made the pain worse – his right eyebrow was split from the blow to his head that had knocked him out. He hissed and clenched his fists, one of them going to his aching brow. "I'll figure something out," he grumbled.

Despite herself, Mrs. Abana smiled wanly. "You always were headstrong, Sting." Sting's bright blue eyes met hers and he was relieved there was no judgment there. None of the anger from just a few hours before was present. In fact, she looked… _defeated._ "Just do me a favor, please?"

He shrugged, dropping his hand back to the table. "Sure."

A blush crept into her cheeks as Mrs. Abana slid a card to him from across the table, unable to meet his eyes. "Please go and see this woman. I know I can't help you," her shoulders fell in defeat, "but maybe she can."

Sting took the offered card and scanned it. It was a card for an orphanage. _An orphanage?!_ "You really think we belong in a place like this?" he spat, his anger resurfacing with a vengeance. Wren would suffocate in an orphanage!

Mrs. Abana sighed and shook her head. "I didn't say that. I'm just asking for you to talk to them. Please. For Wren's sake."

Wren was Sting's weakness. He knew it just as well as Mrs. Abana knew it. A small part of him resented that fact, but he was his baby brother, after all, and he _had_ to take care of him. He had to do right by him, even if it meant some uncomfortable decisions. Swallowing, he nodded curtly and tucked the card into his pocket. "I'll go tomorrow after the funeral."

The smile that graced Mrs. Abana's lips was one of relief. "Thank you, Sting."

Sting took a final sip of tea before rising from the table. _I'm not doing it for you,_ he retorted inwardly. "Good night, Mrs. Abana," he said outwardly with a polite bow. "Thank you." After rinsing his cup in the sink, he retreated to the bedroom he temporarily shared with Wren, quickly readying for bed and slipping under the covers beside his little brother. Wren slept soundly, the sleep of the emotionally exhausted, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his lips slightly parted. He looked so young, so peaceful and innocent as he slept. It was easy to see him as just any normal 3-year-old, but Sting knew better. Wren's sharp mind had needed to see their parents' bodies in order to get the closure he would have otherwise been denied. He had to see them for himself, despite his horrific reaction. His eyes had been glassy and lost in the days since the fire, like their turquoise depths could not understand what they were seeing, but since seeing the charred remains of their parents, they were clear – pained and withdrawn, but clear. Sting knew he had made the right decision in taking him, despite what Mrs. Abana or anyone else might think.

"I'll take care of you, Wren," he whispered his vow, lovingly brushing a rogue lock of white hair back from his brother's forehead. "I promise."

* * *

"Sting, at this time you have two choices. You can care for your brother on your own, or you can surrender him to the orphanage."

The words hit Sting hard, like a blow to the gut, and he was grateful Wren was at Mrs. Abana's so he couldn't hear them. "You-you would split us up?" he questioned, cocking his head to the side along with furrowing his brow in question.

The officer folded her hands on the desk in front of her with authority, but looked at Sting with sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sting, but there just isn't room for both of you. You are technically old enough to take care of yourself, or so the elders see it."

"But you'd take my brother away?" He still couldn't get his mind around it. He'd just lost his parents. Why would they take his brother too?

"Sting, they would not be doing it because they _want_ to, but because they _have_ to. You have to think of what would be best for Wren." She leveled him with her cold, gray eyes. "He's only 3-years-old. Do you think staying with you would be best for him? You're only 10. How do you plan on caring for him?" When he didn't immediately answer, the officer continued with her questions, her gaze growing more and more stern as she continued. "Do you have a job, Sting? Any source of income?" He shook his head. "Then how will you provide for him?"

"I'll get one."

"And what if you can't?"

Sting's eyes flashed. What he lacked in natural talent, he made up for in sheer will. "I will," he ground out.

"Where will you live?"

"I'll find something." It was the officer's turn to cock her head to the side at him, raising an eyebrow skeptically as she pursed her lips to the side as though his answers were driving home her points – he could see how they were – he clearly lacked the means to take care of someone so was going to have a hard enough time supporting himself, let alone someone else. Sting sat back in his chair with a sigh, slouching, as he thought. His mind raced as his brow furrowed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as though the pain could focus him. Wren was gifted. He had natural talents Sting could only dream of. He'd seen Wren wield a practice sword with deadly accuracy, seen the wild acrobatics the tot was capable of, and had even felt outsmarted by his younger sibling. Those skills would be wasted in an orphanage, or worse – be snuffed out entirely. He couldn't let that happen. But could he really care for the both of them? He was only 10! "I'm willing to try," he blurted. "Please, just let me try!"

"You're willing to try what?"

Sting looked up, his eyes fierce with determination as he sat straight once more. "I'm willing to try to take care of my brother. I'm his big brother. It's my duty to take care of him. He needs me." _Maybe just as much as I need him,_ he thought to himself.

The officer allowed a soft smile to grace her lips and gave a curt nod. "Very well. I will inform the necessary parties and you will be listed as Wren's legal guardian. If you need anything, you come and find me here. We'll make proper arrangements for your brother then."

Rising to his feet, Sting's hands curled into fists full of purpose. "Thank you, but I will make sure it won't be necessary." He smiled at her before walking out of the room, embarking on what would be the hardest journey of his short life.

* * *

"Wren," Sting whispered, nudging his little brother in the shoulder. "Wren, wake up." Wren grumbled and smacked his lips in his sleep before rolling to his other side. "Wren!" Sting tried again, raising his voice but still keeping it below a whisper. "It's time to get up!"

Wren's eyes fluttered open for a moment before drifting shut again. "Nnnngh," he sighed, burying his head beneath the blanket.

"Of all the days you decide to actually act like a child," Sting huffed, ruffling the spot beneath the blanket where he knew his brother's head to be. "Get up!" Without any further warning, he ripped the blankets from his brother's hands, smiling ruthlessly when Wren shivered and curled in on himself.

"Stop it!" Wren whined.

"Then get up! It's time to go."

This time when Wren's eyes opened, they stayed open and he jumped up. The bright turquoise depths that suddenly peered into Sting's belied the intelligence beneath the young exterior. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Wren's calm demeanor almost made it hard to believe the young boy had been on the verge of a mental break just the other night. _And that really was my fault. Mrs. Abana was right about that… But once Wren had it in his mind to see them, there was going to be no stopping him. And it_ had _been exactly what he needed. I just happened to know that and accept it._ "We're going to the foothills."

Wren's brow furrowed. "Why?"

 _Because I don't want either of us living around constant reminders of our parents' deaths,_ was Sting's real reason. But he told Wren, "So we can get a fresh start."

"Is Mrs. Abana coming with us?"

This time, Sting _did_ ruffle his brother's hair; the already wild and unruly white locks sticking out even worse than before. "No, Wren. It's just us."

The light in Wren's eyes dimmed in the slightest – just the slightest – as he thought. "But Mom and Dad," he began, tears welling in his eyes even though he clearly fought them.

Sting stopped his brother with a firm hand on his shoulder. Wren had been so quiet and still during the funeral it had been unnerving. He had had to look at his brother numerous times just to make sure he was still breathing. Obviously he had been, but his eyes had taken on a dark look to them, an eerie glassiness that made him want to shiver. It wasn't the same glassiness resembling a stupor that he showed before – it was the glassiness of someone walling themselves off, attempting to hide their pain, burying it deep within the recesses of their heart. It wasn't the normal reaction for a 3-year-old to have. Yeah, he needed to get out of town all right… He needed to re-engage him in the activities he excelled in – get his mind off the darker memories lurking just beneath the surface that were clearly just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth. He could empathize – he was going through similar emotions himself, only muted. "Mom and Dad aren't going anywhere, Wren. They will always be here whenever we decide to come back."

"Will we come back?"

Not wanting to lie to his brother, Sting shrugged. "It's possible."

Clearly reading between his brother's words, Wren's brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. It was such a mature and yet childish expression that Sting had to suppress the urge to smile. "Sting?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's going to take care of us?"

Surprised and yet not surprised by his brother's question, Sting ruffled Wren's hair once more, leaving his hand on his head just long enough that Wren shoved it off with an annoyed grunt. "I am," he finally answered. When Wren looked up at him in shock, he elaborated, "It's going to be just you and me now, Wren, so we'll always be together, no matter what."

Hope flickered in Wren's eyes as he jumped, clasping his hands in front of his chest as Sting rocked from his movements on the bed. "Promise?"

Now there was no need to suppress his smile, and Sting smiled broadly at his little brother. "Promise."

Wren jumped to his heart's content on the bed at Sting's word, letting out a whoop of excitement until his eyes fell on the bags on the floor, neatly packed and stacked next to the door. "Are we leaving now?"

Sting didn't need to look to know exactly what his brother had found. "After breakfast. I promised Mrs. Abana she could cook us one last meal and that we would say our proper goodbyes."

* * *

They left just over an hour later, saying brief goodbyes to Mrs. Abana, who stood on her porch watching the two brothers disappear over the horizon walking hand-in-hand. As they disappeared from sight, the image of their joined hands and straight backs burned into her mind, she had the sneaking suspicion she wouldn't be seeing them again, and had to dab tears from her eyes as she sobbed.

Sting's feet were carrying him to the cemetery without his knowledge, Wren's hand held firmly in his own, each carrying a small pack of what little belongings they had left or had acquired since the fire. If Wren noticed the direction they were headed in (and Sting suspected he did), he said nothing and instead chose to focus on twirling and getting acquainted with the feel of his new wooden practice sword that had been a gift from Mrs. Abana.

The cemetery wasn't far, and they arrived well before noon. Although they had only been to the site once, Sting already knew the path by heart, and he navigated their way through the tombstones, shrines, fountains, and walls of flowers with ease. Wren easily followed him, his eyes wide as he took in their surroundings seemingly for the first time. Although he could see nothing out of place, he had the distinct feeling of eyes on them, the strong sensation that there was more to the cemetery than met the eye, and it made him shiver. "What are we doing here, Brother?" Wren finally asked, slipping his practice sword into a loop at his belt so that he could focus more on the task at hand.

"Saying goodbye," Sting replied, as though it were the most common occurrence in the world.

Wren gulped dryly as the still-fresh ground came into view from their parents' graves. While the image of his parents' charred bodies was forever burned into his mind, especially the way their mouths were open, frozen in silent screams, and their arms reaching out for each other and for something else that he could only guess at; it did not give him nightmares like Mrs. Abana suspected. Quite the opposite – he found it fascinating. While he missed his parents and wanted them back, he understood that the bodies were not what made his parents _his parents._ That part of them was gone and somewhere better – or so he hoped. He would not want them to end up as lost souls wandering Earthland.

When Sting finally stopped before the fresh graves, he dropped to one knee, his eyes on the fresh and soft dirt covering what remained of their parents. Wren lithely crossed his ankles and lowered himself into a comfortable sitting position beside him, his hand on the end of his sword to keep it from digging into the ground like it was second nature to him. "I wish we knew what happened," Sting whispered.

"You think it was an accident?" Wren asked just as quietly, his eyes on the dirt in front of them as well. While the hair on his arms was standing up, he couldn't quite understand why. He knew their parents' souls were no longer before them – it was just remains.

Sting looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. _What an odd thing for a 3-year-old to say,_ he thought. It was something he had been wondering as well, and so far had not gotten any answers. They cooked inside like most people did, but the fire was always well contained and in the middle of the room, well away from any walls or furnishings that could catch fire. As far as he knew, there was no one who would want to harm them. So had it been an accident? Or were their parents killed on purpose? "I don't know, Wren," he breathed, putting his other knee down and kneeling properly.

Wren's eyes had taken on that dark look again. It was a look that made chills creep down Sting's spine – a look that made him look and _feel_ far older than he really was. "I get the feeling this was supposed to happen," he murmured, his eyes wavering and distant. "We were supposed to be out of the house, and they were supposed to die."

"How can you say that?!" Sting snapped, smacking him along the back of the head.

Glowering at his older brother, Wren rubbed the back of his head, but the dark look didn't leave his eyes. "I don't know!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "I just can't shake that feeling!"

Sting's eyebrow rose, following Wren's movements as he turned on his heel and ran off. He didn't chase after him – he didn't need to. With a sigh, he looked back at the grave before him, wanting to say something, but not sure what to say. He loved his parents, but he resented them. It was just like he loved Wren but resented him. "Why did you leave?" he finally whispered, tears of anger, frustration, and sadness stinging his eyes. "Why?! Wren needs you! _I_ need you!" He stood up, bracing his hands on his knee to help himself. "But I'll prove you wrong. I'll take care of Wren and do what you thought I couldn't." He hated the bitterness in his voice, but he couldn't stop it. He hadn't voiced his true concerns and feelings since this whole ordeal began – he'd kept it locked up in order to protect Wren. How long would he be able to do that? "I know Wren was always more important than me, more valuable than me, but I'll prove that I can be valuable too. I'll prove that you should have had more faith in me like Wren does." He hesitated, his eyes searching for and finding Wren, who was leaning his side against a tree and looking off into the distance. "I promise."

* * *

 _A/N: I am soooo sorry it's taken me so long to post this update but I had other projects I was working on, plus school. I hope the wait was worth it and this story is just getting started so there will definitely be a lot more to come!_

 _This is my first ever cross over, featuring Fairy Tail and Bleach. This features Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Histugaya, who originally (and this will be explained/become clear later on) is Wren if you didn't figure that out from his description. A lot of things that may be confusing will be explained, I promise. There are some "Easter Eggs" hidden in here (and I plan on continuing to do this) for what's to come and hinting toward their futures as we know them... Let me know if you spotted them! ;)_

 _This idea was entirely created by **ThunderLordess** and **Beastly-x-Kettan** (on DeviantArt) - I was just recruited for the writing. I hope you enjoy! There will definitely be more to come!_

 _The usual disclaimer, I do not own Bleach or Fairy Tail or any of their characters. They belong to Tite Kubo and Hiro Mashima respectively._


	3. Brothers United

"Hey Wren," Sting called, finally making his way to his little brother. When Wren turned over his shoulder to look at him, he was not surprised to see that the trouble remained in his eye. _I've got to get his mind off them…_ "You hungry?" he asked, cracking a smile and throwing his thumb back over his shoulder. "What do you say we go check out the river?"

Wren turned, clearly trying to fight the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he shoved himself away from the tree. He loved water. "Yeah!" he cried, the darkness immediately leaving his eye as he ran toward the river, all thoughts of melancholy forgotten. Sting ran after him, allowing himself to chuckle at his brother's energetic antics as he nimbly leapt over fallen trees.

They arrived at the river moments later, the stream winding through the trees and trickling peacefully in the calm afternoon. A bend in the river made an eddy perfect for fishing, and for once Wren didn't run headlong into the water, splashing enough for three people. He stopped his forward momentum on the bank of the river, his sharp eyes tracking the water as though he were following something. "What do you see, Wren?" Sting asked, coming up beside him. Despite their run, neither of them were out of breath.

"Fish," Wren breathed.

"You want to catch one?"

Wren nodded, practically drooling. Sting simply smiled at his brother and turned to his pack, tasking Wren with finding them a juicy worm for bait. Mrs. Abana had given him a parting gift as well, only his was more practical – it was a breakdown fishing pole, complete with plenty of extra line. He could break it down into pieces barely longer than his forearm that could easily be reconnected, making traveling with it a breeze. The line was held on a separate spool, but could be left on the pole when disconnected if he was careful. After tying a quick knot to the end of the pole, Sting made sure Wren was watching. "Dad ever teach you how to fish?" Wren chewed his lower lip and shook his head, his eyes on the small, wriggling worm he had handed to his brother. Sting smiled softly, his heart swelling with pride that for once he knew something his brother didn't. "Then watch closely," he instructed, and impaled the worm on the hook. Wren's eyes widened, but he showed no other outward reaction to the worm's demise as Sting cast the line into the calmer waters of the eddy, where the fish were sure to congregate.

"Why'd you do that to the worm?" Wren asked moments later, his eyes now on the small point in the water where the line disappeared beneath the surface.

Sting looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye, tugging gently on the line. "The fish need to have bait – something to go after in order to bite the hook. They won't just willingly bite it."

"Oh." He appeared to think a moment. "Did it hurt the worm?"

Sting shrugged, remembering asking his father the same question. "I don't know. But if we didn't do it, we wouldn't eat. It's no different than a bird eating a worm or a big cat taking down a deer, Wren. Circle of life – things have to die so other things can live."

Wren seemed to chew that over a moment. Sting knew it wasn't the first time _that_ particular topic had come up. "Do you always use a worm?"

Surprised and yet not surprised by his little brother's undying curiosity, Sting shook his head, tugging on the line once more – it felt heavier. "No. Sometimes insects work better. It depends on the fish you are trying to catch and where you are."

"How do you know what they want?"

Sting shrugged again, repositioning his hands on the pole as he sensed something bite the line. "Practice."

Wren saw the line twitch just as Sting felt it, and they both jumped, their heads snapping to the water. Wren's gasp was audible with excitement, while Sting kept his cool – well aware that the fish was not won until it was on shore, and sometimes not even then. As he began winding the line in, Sting instructed his brother in what to do and when. He told him what to do to avoid the line cutting into his hand and how to keep from pulling the fish in too fast and losing the line, but not to do it too slow and risk losing the fish. Wren soaked up his words in attentive silence, his eyes not leaving Sting's hands, the fishing pole, or the line in the water that jerked with the caught fish's thrashing movements. It wasn't until the fish jumped from the water, flashing a brilliant green before flopping back beneath the surface that he squealed in excitement.

"You caught one! You caught one!"

Allowing himself to smile, Sting continued working to bring the fish in. The river was large, with a rather slow moving current – it made the perfect breeding and feeding ground so the fish were larger here. He took his time, careful not to lose such a large treasure, and did not say a thing until he had pulled the fish that was nearly as large as Wren from the water and clubbed it to finish it off.

"Why'd you hit it?" Wren asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at the now caved in skull of the fish.

Sting grabbed his brother's shoulder and squeezed gently. "A lesson Mom explained to me a long time ago is that you must make sure others do not suffer, Wren, that includes when they are to be used for your meals. I hit the fish to put it out of its misery. Otherwise, it might still be lying there, gasping for breath, and dying slowly. I'd rather it be over quickly and painlessly." Wren looked at the ground and toed the dirt with his sandal. His lessons from martial arts and the sword had similar lessons embedded in them. "It's not always necessary, but with this big of a guy, I didn't want to risk losing it," he admitted.

"Okay," was all Wren could think to say.

Watching the wheels in his brother's mind turn, Sting pulled the hook from the fish's mouth and wound up the fishing line in order to save it. "You want to see something gross?" he asked next, breaking down the fishing pole.

Curious eyes flashed in the afternoon light and Sting once more smiled at his brother. It was moments like this that he knew his brother had been missing out on. "What?"

"You want to see its insides?" he sneered, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Some kids Wren's age might have been appalled, or scared, or disgusted, but not Wren. Wren was immediately curious and excited. "Yes!" he cheered, immediately returning to his brother's side and kneeling down beside the massive animal.

Pulling his best hunting knife from his pack, Sting talked him through this next important step of cleaning and gutting the fish. They would be providing for themselves from here on out, and he had to make sure Wren knew as much as possible. Just as in fishing, Wren watched his movements with the knife with careful scrutiny, his eyes not missing a thing as he watched Sting split the fish from fin to jaw. His eyes widened when the innards were exposed and Sting showed him how to pull them out and briefly discussed what could be eaten if they wanted (or needed) to. He made sure to discuss the importance of cleaning the kill quickly to prevent spoilage and cleaning it away from where they were camping/staying in case of wild animals. Then he showed him something that made Wren bounce in excitement, because he let him do it – how to scrape the scales off with the knife. _Mrs. Abana would have a heart attack if she saw him doing this,_ Sting thought as Wren carefully held down the tail fin in one hand and used the other to scrape the knife in the opposite direction that the scales laid. Green and rainbow colored scales rippled and flew off, coating Wren's hands like colorful, scaly snow. The smile on Wren's face was genuine, as was Sting's. This was how brothers were supposed to be.

* * *

They continued on their way after they finished eating, packing and storing what fish they hadn't been able to eat to save for later. It was a promising beginning, Sting's heart lightened by the events of the day and the already increased closeness and protectiveness he felt for his little brother. Despite the events that drove them from their hometown and into the wilderness together, he found himself smiling, laughing at Wren's childish enthusiasm as he pointed at each bird and squirrel he spotted from the trail they traveled, tugging on Sting's hair from his perch atop his shoulders. While Wren was strong for his age, walking most of the day was tough for anyone, let alone a 3-year-old. So when Sting noticed his brother's trailing pace, he scooped him up and put him on his shoulders, Wren giggling happily as he held on by gripping Sting's hair in his small hands and occasionally kicking his older brother in the chest with his heels in his innocent excitement.

It was when the sun started to sink toward the western horizon and they were still far from town that Sting began to realize they'd have to make camp. From the tense way Wren sat on his shoulders, he knew he had arrived at the same conclusion. "Hey, how do you feel about camping out tonight?" he asked, trying to keep the question light as he bounced the toddler gently so that he had to hold on or risk falling off.

"Camping?!" Wren cried, a mixture of fear and excitement in his voice. "I-in the dark?" he asked, his voice growing quiet as his grip on Sting's hair increased to the point of becoming painful.

Perhaps one of the few ways Wren was like other children his age was in his fear of the dark. He had been unable to fall asleep in a completely dark room back at home, and if it was completely dark, he couldn't be alone. He never screamed and panicked like they heard of other kids doing, but his eyes would get wide and he would breathe rapidly, his hands cold and shaking as he searched for a source of comfort – usually their mother. He would have to fill that void now…

"Yes, in the dark," Sting admitted before adding, "but we'll have a fire, Wren, and I'll be with you, just like I promised."

Wren's tight grip on Sting's hair relaxed in just the slightest as he nodded his head. He ground his teeth together in determination, even though Sting could see none of it. He had to start acting like a big boy now! "And I have my sword!" he claimed, pulling the wooden practice sword from his belt and waving it proudly above his head.

"Of course! Nothing can harm us so long as you have that!" Sting proclaimed, inwardly cringing at making such a false proclamation. Satisfied, Wren replaced the sword in his belt, resting his hands on Sting's head for balance once more. "Now help me keep an eye out for a place to camp, okay, Wren?"

"Right!"

They found a good spot to camp not 30 minutes later, and while Sting arranged their shelter, Wren arranged the fish around the fire to warm it. The river was still relatively close by, so they made a quick trip to its refreshing waters to refill their water and to wash their hands and faces. Sting took his brother's mind off the encroaching darkness by splashing him with water, laughing when Wren's eyes flashed in retaliation, scooping water in his small hand to toss at his big brother. The mirth in his eyes made the resulting wet shirt worth it.

It was as they were making their way back to their camp, Wren once more balanced on Sting's shoulders (despite the fact that his shoulders were aching in protest), that Sting pointed to the setting sun. As their source of light crept lower and lower, meeting the horizon, the sky turned into a myriad of colors – red, orange, and purple, before the blue of the sky could be seen darkening. Red predominated the sunset, reflecting back off the clouds as though they were rich, fluffy garnets. Sting had always been fond of sunsets and sunrises – light drew him but he wasn't afraid of it leaving either. The contrasting colors of the departing sun always made him marvel at the beauty of the world around them.

"Hey, Wren, do you know why the sun sets red?" he asked, pointing at the horizon. When Wren remained silent, he took it as his cue to continue. "It's because light is made up of many different colors, and out of all those colors, red is the color that travels the farthest." (1)

"Really?" Wren whispered, his mouth gaping in awe as he stared at the setting sun.

Sting repositioned his grip on his brother; once more allowing the pride he felt at knowing something his brother didn't to settle into his heart. _Maybe I can teach him more than I thought, after all._ "Really."

Tiny hands gathered messy blonde hair in their fists, tugging gently. "It's beautiful," Wren's small voice whispered from above his head.

Suppressing the urge to look up to witness the pure awe he knew would be reflected back in Wren's eyes, Sting smiled and squeezed his brother's little leg. Part of him wished they could have shared moments like this earlier in their lives, and that it hadn't taken such a horrible tragedy to truly bring them together. "Yeah."

And so they spent their first night under the stars, Wren snuggling close to his big brother due to his fear of the dark, holding his sword tightly in both hands. For once Sting didn't poke fun. He made sure Wren was closer to the fire and took his time showing him the constellations that he knew; telling him the stories of the stars that he remembered his mother telling them until Wren's eyes had finally grown heavy. When he stirred, his fear resurfacing just before sleep overcame him, Sting simply grunted soft words of encouragement, sleeping with one eye open to make sure they remained safe throughout the night.

While he would never admit it to his younger brother, Sting was a lot less sure of their situation than he let on. Sure, they had managed their first day and first night just fine. They were well fed and sheltered and so far had not so much as _seen_ another person on the road. But how long would that last? How long would two young boys stay out of trouble on their own? Shadowed thoughts clouded his mind, making him shiver. He had a feeling it would not last forever.

* * *

(1) Quote referenced from Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days, © Square Enix

 _A/N: I feel like a broken record saying this, but I am soooo sorry it's taken me so long to post this update! Graduating nursing school made for a BUSY time! But THAT'S done! I hope the wait was worth it – I know this chapter is shorter than the others but the next one is well underway already. Like I've said, this story is just getting started so there will definitely be a lot more to come! TheSmilingFallenAngel, I apologize to you in particular because I know you were waiting but the next one should hopefully be up relatively quickly. I want to thank all of you so much for the comments, reviews, and favorites! It really means the world to me and my fellow collaborator!_

 _This is my first ever cross over, featuring Fairy Tail and Bleach. This features Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Histugaya, who originally (and this will be explained/become clear later on) is Wren if you didn't figure that out from his description. A lot of things that may be confusing will be explained, I promise. There are some "Easter Eggs" hidden in here (and I plan on continuing to do this) for what's to come and hinting toward their futures as we know them... Let me know if you spotted them! ;)_

 _This idea was entirely created by_ _ **ThunderLordess**_ _and_ _ **Beastly-x-Kettan**_ _(on DeviantArt) - I was just recruited for the writing. I hope you enjoy! There will definitely be more to come!_

 _The usual disclaimer, I do not own Bleach or Fairy Tail or any of their characters. They belong to Tite Kubo and Hiro Mashima respectively._


	4. A Rift Begins

Two years passed while Sting adjusted to his new role as caretaker, guardian, provider, brother, father, and role model to his younger brother. After the tragic fire that stole their parents' lives, their future had been uncertain. Sting was only 10 – was he really capable of caring for and raising his 3-year-old brother? Even two years later, their future remained uncertain – they lived by taking one day at a time.

Now, as Sting gazed down at his sleeping 5-year-old brother, he sighed heavily. He thought back on the day they left their home filled with bittersweet memories. Two years seemed like an eternity. Two years and his childhood was gone. There was no time to play or have fun or stargaze anymore – he had to worry about getting enough money to buy food, or keep a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs. He could be charming when he wanted to be, his bright smile and quick wit often enough to get him the bare minimum of what they needed; but when that failed, he had to turn to stealing. Because of the need to steal, they had to move a lot or risk being discovered. It wasn't the life a 5-year-old should have, let alone a 5-year-old as smart, talented, and gifted as Wren. But what else was he supposed to do? What else _could_ he do?

"Maybe you'd be better off without me," he whispered, brushing Wren's hair back off his forehead. He was so dirty the normally white locks looked silver and gray. His face was smudged with dirt and oil – he had been helping with some odd jobs to help earn some money. _He's always trying to help…_

"Is it time to get up?" Wren whispered, smacking his lips sleepily as he stirred, curling his limbs in tighter on himself. His practice sword, the gift from Mrs. Abana, was held tightly in his grasp. Even though the sword was wooden, it never left his side.

Sting pulled his hand away before tucking the blanket higher up over Wren's shoulder. "No, Wren. You sleep for now. I'm going to go get us some breakfast."

"Okay," Wren sighed. His eyes never once opened.

Looking down at his baby brother, sound asleep in apparent blissful ignorance of their plight; Sting doubted he was actually either of those things. Wren slept with his practice sword because he was afraid they would be attacked in the middle of the night (they had been surprised by guards once after stealing food from the market, and now they were always on high alert). He helped Sting out with jobs as often as he could because he knew they needed the money. He ate less than he should because he knew food was hard to come by. If Sting wouldn't let him help on jobs, he went out and fished, taking Sting's fishing rod with him and often times bringing home more fish than Sting did (much to the elder brother's frustration). Everything he did, he did for the betterment of the two of them as a family, and while it was admirable, it was also sickening, coming from a 5-year-old. 5-year-olds were supposed to be selfish and reckless, not so altruistic. While he could be rambunctious and high-energy, Wren was incredibly talented at channeling that energy into something good and useful. He was not one to waste anything, whether it was material or not, and while it benefited them, it also grated on Sting's nerves. _It's like he doesn't even need me,_ he found himself thinking more than once.

Regardless, their sacrifices just weren't enough. Sting was watching his brother get thinner, just as he was. While they both grew in height, their physiques did little to fill out otherwise. Their clothes were thin and ragged, both of them needing larger sizes as their pant legs showed their ankles and their sleeves did not come all the way down their arms. He watched his brother cringe in fear when soldiers or guards passed them, and although he hated to admit it, he was ever leery of them himself. What hurt him the most was watching his brother grow stagnant in his sword-work. Sting had taught him all he could – Wren had moved on to teaching and training himself, often disappearing for hours on end and coming home sweaty and filthy.

Frustration bubbled within Sting's chest as he lurched to his feet, stretching his back as he worked the kinks out of his stiff muscles. They slept on a mat on the floor – the best they could afford under the circumstances – and Wren was notorious for moving around in his sleep, often kicking or punching his older brother, much to his annoyance. The young boy could sleep anywhere. "Bastard," Sting grumbled under his breath before stepping out into the still lightening morning.

As Sting made his way through the still barren streets, he kept a wary eye out. Shopkeepers and vendors were still setting out their goods for the day, most of the shoppers yet to arrive, which left him with very few people to hide amongst. Wren was incredibly agile when it came to stealing. His small frame and quick movements made him hard to catch, but his white hair made him stand out, so Sting rarely took him out to the market when they were short on funds. Besides, if anyone had to do the dirty work, he felt he should do it himself.

Thinking about money, Sting reached into his pocket to feel the jewels present there. He had been able to drudge up some manual labor a few days before, recruiting Wren where he could to help the job go easier, but the money was rapidly dwindling. He'd have to find more work, and soon. It wasn't that he minded working – he found working and earning his keep held a certain satisfaction to it – he felt accomplished when he worked for something. What bothered him was having to leave Wren alone, unattended for sometimes hours on end. While he knew Wren could probably take care of himself better than he could, it still left him feeling uneasy.

Still lost in his thoughts, Sting found the section of the market selling fruit and bought two apples before moving on to the meat section. They had nothing to keep meat in, so they often bought jerky, or only just what they needed. This time, he opted for a little bit of both, choosing to reward his brother for his hard work. It felt good to _pay_ for the reward, and Sting turned to head home with a smile on his face.

* * *

Wren was dreaming, still sound asleep on the floor, his limbs curled in tightly as though to protect himself from some unseen foe. His mind had returned to the day of the fire, his heart soaring with the happiness he had felt playing with Sting in the park and the excitement he had felt climbing the tree. This time when he looked back at the town, there was no smoke, just the horizon extending beautifully before them. When they descended the tree, it was quick because Sting had playfully smacked his leg, shouting, "Race you to the bottom!" and took off. Wren quickly followed, agilely swinging and dropping from branch to branch with a confidence well beyond his years. He dropped to the ground just a fraction of a second after his brother.

"No fair! You started off further down than me!" Wren argued, his lips still twisted into a smile as Sting took off at a sprint. Wren immediately chased after him.

"Quit complaining!" Sting called over his shoulder, cackling as Wren struggled to keep up with his longer strides.

They made it home just before lunch time, their mother gasping at their dirt-covered clothes and smudged faces. "What on Earthland were you two _doing_?!" she cried, running to check Wren over for injuries first.

Her concern for Wren did not bother Sting in the slightest – he was the youngest after all. "We had so much fun, Mommy!" Wren cried, giggling when she searched him for injury and ended up tickling him.

"Well I would say so! Now go get washed up so we can get that ice cream I promised you."

"Yay! Ice cream for lunch!" Wren yelled, tearing off down the hall at a mad run.

"I didn't say that, Young Man!" his mother quickly corrected him. "Sting," she called out to her older son as he moved past her. He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Help him clean up, will you? We're going out for lunch first." She smiled at him, immediately earning a smile in return. He simply nodded and headed towards the room he shared with Wren.

"Come on, Wren! Mom says we're going out for lunch!" Sting stopped short when Wren was struggling to scrub the grime from his face. "Here."

Before Wren could say anything, Sting had plucked the wet cloth from his hand and was scrubbing the dirt from his round face. He held his chin firmly in his hand, his bright blue eyes focused on the task before him. There was no annoyance in his eyes, no concern, just attention to the job before him. "How did you even get so dirty?" he asked, finally revealing Wren's clean skin beneath the muck. Shrugging, Wren pulled himself from his brother's grasp, feeling his cheeks warm. "Now wash up so we can go."

Sting turned from him before Wren could say anything, and Wren looked at his brother's back a moment. He knew Sting suffered because of the attention he got, and while he wished there was some way he could fix it, he knew he couldn't. What he wished his brother could know was how much he looked up to him, how much he wanted to be like him, and most of all how much he _loved_ him. But as was typical in their family, he didn't say anything. He simply smiled and turned to pull out fresh clothes from his dresser – clothes that matched – a white shirt and a pair of loose black pants. He felt more than saw Sting look at him from over his shoulder before he shook his head and turned to get himself ready.

* * *

"Wren!" No response. "Wren!" Still no response. "WREN!"

Wren's eyes slowly opened, the voice calling him slowly breaking through his dream and rousing him from sleep. At first he expected to see his old room and his old things, but then the familiar ache resurfaced in his chest and he knew his dream had been just that – a dream. Yawning, he forced himself up into a sitting position, hiding his disappointment from his brother. "Yeah?" he asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Catch!"

Even half-asleep, Wren had the reflexes of a cat, and he easily caught the apple that Sting threw at his head. He looked at the bright green fruit with stars in his eyes, his stomach immediately growling. "Sting!" he cried, salivating.

"That's not all," Sting teased, pulling the jerky out from behind his back. "Have some of this while I prepare the chicken."

"Chicken?!"

Smiling, Sting turned to their small fire pit and started a fire. It was early fall, so there was no need to keep the fire going just yet unless they were cooking, especially since Wren despised being too warm. "I figured we deserved a little something extra after all that hard work we did the other day." Sparkling blue eyes met glittering turquoise. "Can't have either of us wasting away from hunger, now can we?"

Wren shook his head, taking a hearty bite out of his jerky as he rose to his feet. "You know I can work more if you need me to, Brother."

Sting ground his teeth together at Wren's words, his thoughts from earlier returning with a vengeance. Wren was only 5! He shouldn't be offering to work! He should be playing in the woods, climbing trees, and slaying imaginary spirits! He should be practicing with his sword, not worrying about where they would sleep or if they would have enough food in their bellies! He shouldn't be worrying about his older brother! It was an argument they were having more and more frequently. The easy days of their relationship seemed gone. "I'll ask for your help when I need it, Wren," he answered shortly.

Taking another bite of his jerky, Wren chewed slowly in thought. Like Sting, a lot of his childhood had been stolen from him in the two years they had been living on the streets, only he was too young to understand it as such. Instead, he simply thought he was more serious and focused than other children his age. When he ran into other kids, they looked at him like he was an anomaly, curious to how he could be so resolute. Games were not simple games to him – they were ways to train – and as such, he was extremely competitive and the other kids didn't want to play with him because he always won. He was careful not to be over-confident and rude; in fact he was humble, quiet, and polite, but they saw his aloofness as cockiness and avoided him. Too young and under socialized to understand, he simply shrugged it off as normal and carried on. "I need something to do," he finally admitted.

Looking up from the growing fire, Sting saw the quiet pleading in his brother's eyes. "What do you want to do?" he finally asked, turning to find a pan to cook the chicken.

"I want to help," he answered, crossing his ankles and lowering himself to the floor.

"You don't need to help," Sting lied. He didn't want to admit that he _needed_ the help.

Wren saw through his brother's lie. Like Sting, he noticed the way Sting's clothes fit looser than they should, even if they were getting to be too short, as he grew taller. He was often the brunt of Sting's shortening temper, a result of his growing stress in trying to care for the two of them. "Our situation says otherwise," Wren finally pointed out, unable to find a subtler way to say what he wanted and _needed_ to say.

Sting's eyes flashed when he looked at his brother, a white halo forming around his vision. "What are you trying to say, Wren?!"

Wren clenched his hand around his apple, feeling a chill creep through his veins that made him feel as though he could crush the apple in his hand. "I'm saying you won't admit when you need help!"

"Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the mat this morning?"

The dream flashed through Wren's mind and a painful tug on his heart reminded him of how much he missed his mother. He found it more and more difficult to recall her face or the sound of her voice with each passing day. He missed the way their life _used_ to be, even though he found it harder and harder to recall. "Apparently you did!" he retorted, his cheeks burning at his empty response.

Snorting, Sting turned back to their chicken, poking them around with cooking chopsticks as they sizzled in the pan. A chill had crept into the room and he had to resist the sudden urge to shiver. "Shut up," he grumbled. "I was trying to do something nice."

"So am I!"

"Well stop it!" Sting roared, throwing his hands up in the air as he rose to his feet. "Stop throwing it in my face how horrible of a job I'm doing! Stop telling me that I need help! Stop trying to be better than me and _let me take care of you, damn it_!" His throat constricted as he bellowed, tears stinging his eyes unbidden as he erupted, his frustrations boiling over with a sudden surge of emotion that took him by surprise.

Tears were in Wren's eyes as he looked up at Sting. Sting glared down at him as though he might strike him, his hands clenched into fists as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Wren's chin quivered as he fought back a sob. How had their pleasant morning suddenly turned into this? "I'm sorry I'm such a burden!" Wren cried, launching to his feet. He paused just long enough to grab his practice sword before bolting out the door, leaving Sting to stare after him dumbly.

"Wren?!" Sting cried a moment later, once he came back to his senses and ran after him. "Wren!" There was no sign of him.

* * *

Wren did not return until after dark that night. When he cautiously and quietly made his way back inside, Sting was surprised to see that he was washed and clean, his hair as bright white as ever in stark contrast to his tanned skin. His clothes were clean and he smelled distinctly of the woods – had he really run _that_ far off? It was only when he looked closer that he noticed the discoloration to his brother's face – the slight darkening near the corner of his jaw that indicated a bruise and a few scratches near his temple.

"Where did you go?" Sting questioned the moment Wren stepped foot inside.

Wren cast wary eyes on his brother, his practice sword held loosely and comfortably in his hand. His knuckles were bruised. "To the forest," he replied, confirming Sting's suspicion.

Sting's brow twitched in irritation. "You didn't need to go so far," he chastised.

 _I didn't think you'd notice,_ Wren haughtily replied, but only in his head. "Sorry," he answered with a shrug instead.

"I was worried about you." Wren stopped and turned to look at his brother with wide, surprised eyes. "I told you before, we're in this together, and I meant that." He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling far older than he was. "Besides, you shouldn't be wandering that far on your own, Wren. What if something were to happen to you?"

The practice sword in Wren's hand twitched before he twirled it expertly along his side, then slashed it across his body. Sting knew first hand that although the sword was not real, it could hurt plenty, despite being wielded by a 5-year-old. "I can handle myself."

Sting's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Now come eat."

So their argument was shoved under the rug. Wren's apology satisfied Sting for the time being, even though they both could feel the continued tension between them. Rather than address it and cause even more discomfort, they sat in companionable silence, eating the chicken they hadn't eaten earlier. Tomorrow was going to be a new day with new possibilities. They would just have to make sure it was a better day.

The next day, Wren waited for Sting to head off on his newest job before slipping from their shack. While he had told Sting the truth of where he went the previous day, he hadn't told him the _whole_ truth – he had gone to more than just the forest – the marks on his body and the soreness he now felt attested to that. What Sting _also_ didn't know was that he had come home with a descent amount of money, and he fully intended to do so again…

Wren had wandered the streets the day before, his eyes bleary with tears and his heart heavy. He had been searching for something to do, something to occupy his time and get his thoughts off of his controlling brother; but he also wanted and needed to do something _useful_. Like Sting said, he was nothing if not resourceful. So when he heard wild hoots, hollers, and shouts coming from the front of one of the bars despite the earlier hour, he had not hesitated to follow the sounds inside, curiosity getting the better of him.

Inside the bar, the room had been dark and dank, hardly anyone present save for a lonely bartender and a few patrons passed out in their chairs or booths. The moment his (still dirty) silvery hair appeared through the front door, the bartender perked up. "Hey! What are you doin' here?!"

Wren looked up, his turquoise eyes wide and innocent. "I heard noises from the front," he answered innocently, pointing his thumb in the direction of the street.

The bartender was too far away and too shrouded in darkness for Wren to really get a good look at him, but he noticed the drop in the man's eyes – as he looked at the practice sword at his hip no doubt – and the way they narrowed when he looked back up at him. "You want to know what all the excitement is about?" the older man teased.

Wisely sensing something mischievous, Wren nonetheless smiled and nodded. "Yeah."

His leathery face breaking into a grin, the bartender came around the bar to greet Wren properly, although he did not introduce himself. "Very well. Follow me."

Wren simply followed on silent feet, his eyes never still as he took in their surroundings.

The bartender took him down a narrow flight of stairs, each step so steep that Wren had to be extra careful to keep his balance as he took each large step down. The sounds of cheering, shouting, and grunting grew louder as they descended the stairs, and soon the scent of sweat and blood joined the cacophony of other sights, sounds, and smells that assaulted him the moment they turned the corner. Men and women (although they were mostly men) stood so packed together, there was hardly room to squeeze between them. They stood around a wooden circle that was recessed into the ground, several leaning dangerously over the rail as they shouted and gesticulated with their arms. "Get him! Thatta boy! Come on! Get up!" were just some of the shouts Wren could make out over the roar of the crowd. His interest was immediately piqued even more.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice remarkably calm as his eyes scanned the mob. So far, he had not been noticed – no one was bothering to look down.

"What's it look like?" the bartender asked, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

"Are they," Wren paused, hearing the solid _smack_ of flesh against flesh immediately followed by a guttural grunt, and shuffling footsteps, "fighting?"

The bartender's smile widened. "You want a closer look?"

There was no hesitation in Wren's nod. While he had been training with his father before his death, then Sting after that, he had not seen anyone in real combat before, hadn't quite witnessed what he should expect. His answer apparently pleased the bartender as he grabbed his hand and pulled him through the mass of bodies. "Hey! I got a young one!" he called.

They appeared in front of the pit before Wren could even register how they got there. A small part deep inside of him told him he should be scared, but he wasn't – he was too excited. His eyes simply looked around him in awe, soaking in the sights, sounds, and the smells. He wanted to experience this place for what it was. When he was suddenly pushed forward, having to take several steps in order to keep his balance, he glared up at the arrogant bartender with a scowl that made him look far more menacing than a typical 5-year-old.

"Well, I say! He's a feisty one, isn't he?"

Wren turned to the voice, the hair on the back of his neck rising, but not out of fear. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man who called him feisty smiled, revealing crooked and yellowed teeth. He was round and plump, his clothes impeccable despite the conditions he was in. His hair, a deep purple, was slicked back from his head in a way that emphasized his receding hairline. Small, beady gray eyes peered at him from the expanse of his heavily-jowled face. "You may call me Lilac. I am the proprietor of this fine establishment."

Wren was too young for certain manners, and he crinkled his lip in distaste. "Lilac? What kind of name is that?"

The man known as Lilac laughed, his jowls jiggling along with his belly, which he pat as though to calm it down. "Feisty indeed! What do you say, Little Man?" Wren bristled at the name and ground his teeth. "You want to try going a round?"

Forgetting his irritation at the nickname, Wren stepped forward, having to hold onto the rail to pull himself up in order to see over it. Round, luminous eyes peered over the jagged edge of the rail, Wren's turquoise gaze in stark contrast to the dirty silver hair on his head and his tanned, dirtied skin. What he saw in the pit made him suck in a breath, but he couldn't explain why.

The two men who had been fighting were done. The victor stood inside the pit casually toweling himself off, while the loser was exiting with a dejected fall in his shoulders and a considerable limp, holding a towel to his bleeding head. There were no gloves, no mats, no weapons – just two men and their fists. The walls of the pit were lined and scarred with marks from previous fights. "Is that allowed?" Wren wisely asked.

Again, Lilac giggled, his eyes flashing. "Who do you think you're talking to, Boy?" When Wren remained silent, clearly not understanding what he had meant as a joke, he continued. "What do you have to put up for collateral if you lose?"

"C-coll-collateral?"

"Sure! You can't just jump in for free! Everyone has to put something down in order to fight. If you win, you get it back, plus whatever was bet or put down against you, minus my fee of course," he added with a smirk. "Hell of a way to earn a quick buck!"

Wren's heart fluttered. _Earn a quick buck, huh?_ While he hadn't been able to exactly see the first fight, he had heard enough. The man he could see as the victor was large – _HUGE_ when compared to his own small size, but that meant he would tire faster and would be slower. But he didn't have anything to put up for collateral other than his sword… Just the thought of losing the parting gift from Mrs. Abana was enough to make him want to vomit. "I don't have anything but this," he admitted quietly, slowly pulling his most prized possession from his belt and holding it up for inspection.

"Let me have a look at it." Lilac took the practice sword from him and quickly looked it over with a well-trained eye. He could see the sword was well-used and taken care of. The handle was wrapped with simple leather that had been worn smooth with use. It would be too small for the boy soon, if it wasn't already. Regardless, it was made of some of the finest quality wood that could be found in the region – some of the hardest without compromising for a heavy weight. It was worth a lot, whether the boy knew it or not – and by the casual way he handled it, he assumed _not_. "This will do," he said with a soft nod, not allowing his eagerness to show. _This boy is an idiot! He won't last two seconds in there!_

"What happens to it if I lose?" Wren wisely asked, his eyes on the sword Lilac still held, before looking up into the man's beady gray eyes. "Would there be any way I could get it back?"

The bartender laughed, slapping a hand on his thigh before he turned to go back to work, leaving Lilac to shake his head. "I'm afraid all spoils go to the victor. You would have to take it up with him." He pointed at the giant in the ring, who stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet and stretching his shoulders. Wren looked back at Lilac with a new hardness in his eye. "What do you say, Little Man?"

Wren's face turned scarlet and his hands clenched into fists. His hands turned cold, the drop in temperature radiating up his arms and into his chest. His heart felt cold and hard, even as it beat with excitement; but then the cold trickled into his belly, coiling there before spreading to his legs. Rather than startle him, it emboldened him, as though the cold suddenly flowing through his veins gave him more strength, especially when he noticed Lilac shiver. "Stop calling me that!" he snarled.

"What would you prefer to be called, then?" Lilac politely asked, surprise furrowing his brow at the tiny spitfire in front of him.

"Anything but that."

"Okay, Kid. So? What do you say?"

Wren shuddered, regretting his choice of words. _It's better than my name,_ he grudgingly admitted. "I'll do it." The determination in his voice surprised him.

Without missing a beat, Lilac turned to the crowd and extended his arms, indicating the tyke at his side, who could mostly be seen just by spikes of silver hair over the rails. "Ladies and Gentlemen! We have a new contestant! And I must say this is a first," he added with a smile down in Wren's direction. Wren simply scowled. "I have here Kid, who would like to challenge Raven!"

Murmurs erupted throughout the crowd, and more than a few outcries of disapproval. Wren and Lilac ignored them all, as Lilac led him to the gate of the pit and Wren slipped inside, his eyes on his opponent and only his opponent as he descended the stairs.

"Raven", or so he was called, was tall. Wren would have to jump in order to hit him anywhere above the belt. His head was shaved, but clearly not bald given the dark tint to his skin where his hair should be. The only hair that remained was all on his face, his beard thick and long, and braided into two long points from either side of his chin. He wore nothing but baggy shorts held up by a thick belt, his chest glistening in the dim light. His knuckles were covered in blood that was not all his own. When he smiled, it was clear he was missing several teeth, and when he spat, there was blood in it. Wren saw this as encouraging rather than intimidating. _He's already taken a few hits…_

"Well, well, well, we have a midget in our midst, huh?" Raven taunted, keeping his distance as Lilac took his time gathering bids.

Wren swallowed, careful to conceal the movement from his opponent. "I must seem like a midget because you're pretty tall," he retorted, then immediately cringed inwardly at his stupid retort.

Raven laughed, clutching his sides. "How old are you, Kid?"

Wren folded his arms across his chest. "None of your business."

"You even know how to fight?"

Sliding his feet further apart to better his balance, Wren eyed Raven's movements. The man was an idiot, constantly moving and parading around his patterns for Wren to see. Just from how much he was gesturing he could see the man was right handed, which meant he would lead with his left leg. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Cocky, eh?"

"Not at all," he shrugged. The calmness in his voice surprised him.

"Do I have all the bids?" Lilac was suddenly calling, drawing Wren out of the quiet stillness of his mind. "Then let's begin!"

Raven moved before Wren was fully prepared, lunging for him with a bellow that made him think of a wild boar charging in the forest. Wren sidestepped the attack easily, wanting to trip the burly man but knowing his leg wouldn't hold against his superior weight. Instead, he kicked his knee, feeling a small amount of evil pleasure at the sickening crunch the joint made, small as it was.

"Bastard!" Raven hollered, but didn't falter. He simply kept most of his weight off the left leg Wren had kicked. He bent to swing, meaning to catch Wren with a large fist, but Wren ducked, the blow barely missing him – Raven's fist went through his hair. As Raven followed through with his momentum, Wren bounced up, pulling an uppercut with all the strength that he had. His fist connected with Raven's chin, erupting pain down his hand and arm, but having little effect on the giant man. "Hey! That tickled!" he taunted, rubbing his chin for show.

Unable to suppress the grunt of pain, Wren rolled away from the giant, holding his hand to his chest protectively. _Ow!_

Raven smiled, knowing exactly what Wren was thinking as he turned around. He took the moment Wren was distracted to attack again, clearly pulling his punch this time so he didn't use his full force, but still connecting with Wren's jaw when he was too slow to avoid the blow. The resulting connection echoed throughout the room, causing the onlookers to suck in surprised gasps as Wren was thrown several feet across the pit and into the wooden railings with a sickening thud. His breath was _whooshed_ from his lungs, leaving him to crumple limply to the ground, staring helplessly up at Raven as he barreled towards him, his lips pulled back in an evil sneer. He was going for the "kill".

 _I can't lose!_ The idea of losing was not even _possible!_ As Wren watched Raven's approach, it was as though everything slowed. Although his lungs still weren't functioning properly, it was as though the lack of oxygen to his brain intensified his focus and _enhanced_ his vision, rather than decrease both. He watched the way Raven propelled himself forward, still unsteady on his left leg. The man was heavily bent forward, both arms extended like he meant to catch Wren up in a crushing embrace. As though he were playing a movie in his mind, Wren saw himself brace with his hands, kicking forward with both feet with as much strength as he could muster, aiming for Enix's already damaged left knee. The joint would crumple this time, the giant man faltering and losing his step as he fell to his knee with a howl of agony (this was a move his father taught him). As the man fell, he would use his own forward momentum to twist in the air, propelling himself onto his feet and landing just behind the giant as he stumbled. Once he collapsed onto his knee, exposing his vulnerable back, Wren would launch vicious attacks on the man's kidneys, striking both with quick, rapid-fire kicks before launching onto his back like a monkey and striking his neck. He was small – too small to do much damage with a physical attack ( _for now,_ he constantly reminded himself), but if he hit the right place on both sides of his neck simultaneously, he would go down instantly. He could do it, holding both hands like blades and striking where the vital vessels in the neck ran up to the brain. The man's eyes would roll back in his head and he'd topple forward, Wren riding his back to the ground like he'd just conquered a giant.

Wren saw all of this before any of it happened, Raven still rocketing toward him with his arms outstretched and an angry bellow tearing from his throat. A small smirk twisted Wren's lips, even though he was still gasping for breath, and he pushed himself from the floor with a grunt, aiming both his feet for Raven's already injured knee. He executed his plan perfectly, only catching a glancing blow to the temple in Raven's wild flailing after his knee gave out. When Raven collapsed to his knee, howling in agony, the entire room went quiet – so quiet the only thing Wren could hear was the pounding of his blood in his veins. The only thing he could focus on was the cold confidence flowing through him, the tint of blue to his vision drawing his attention to where he needed to strike and when.

As Raven struggled to regain his feet, using his right leg as he tried to rise and scarcely suppressing a very unmanly whimper, Wren had to modify his plan; spinning and kicking _that_ leg out from under him as well. The moment both his knees were back on the ground, Wren attacked his kidneys, flinching a little bit himself at the pain he knew the man would be feeling as he struck the barely protected organs just beneath his ribs with his knees. As predicted, Raven bent forward, meekly attempting to escape the onslaught at his back, and only making it easier for Wren to jump onto him, wrapping one leg over his shoulder and the other under his arm and around his chest. He was too small to do anything other than hang on, and once Raven tried to get him off, it would be over; so the moment he felt even remotely secure in his position, the cold surged through him again, drawing him to the great vessels in Raven's neck. He struck faster than many of the onlookers could even see, crying out in an effort to increase the force behind his hands. Raven immediately went limp, falling forward. By the time he was on the ground, Wren was looking at his hands with more than a little astonishment in his eyes. _What_ was _that?!_

The room was shocked silent until Lilac started cheering and clapping. Then the room _erupted_ in screams, excited clapping, and whistling. "My, my! There you have it, folks! Kid!" The round man hurried into the pit to pluck Wren's arm up from his side, holding it up in the air triumphantly. Wren looked up at him in surprise, his mouth agape, still standing on the back of his victim, before finally breaking into a victorious smile. "Let's get someone in here to take care of the big guy, huh?"

Without another word, Lilac pulled Wren from the pit and into a secluded hallway. The crowd had quieted down some, but not really. "I don't know what that was, Kid, but that was incredible. Raven's been undefeated." He had to talk loudly in order to be heard. He looked at Wren with uncertainty in his eye, but there was a spark of excitement there too. "You've earned this." Wren's smile, more than a little bewildered, widened as Lilac handed him the reward money, as well as his practice sword. "Now do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here before Raven comes to and he decides to wallop you for good."

Wren looked up at Lilac with wide, confused, and innocent eyes. Lilac simply smiled, turned him around, and shoved him toward the stairs. "Feel free to come back whenever you want, Kid! You're always welcome here!"

And with that, Wren slipped out of the shady bar and back into the streets, squinting in the bright sunlight after being in the dark basement. One look at himself and his filthy, bloody clothes, and he knew he couldn't go home. Even the people in the streets looked at him with shock in their eyes, pulling their children away from him and holding onto their purses tighter. So, he bought some soap and headed to the forest, washing his clothes and his grimy body in the cool waters of the stream. The smile never left his face.

It wasn't until he decided to head home that Wren realized the gravity of what he had just done. He _knew_ Sting wouldn't approve. What _sane_ person _would_ approve of a 5-year-old engaging in _fights_ in a _pit_ in the _basement_ of a _bar_?! Even as he thought about it, the rattling jewels in his pocket forced the concern from his mind. "So I won't tell him," he said out loud, his eyes drifting to the sky. "He'll be happy to have more food and some clothes that actually fit," he scoffed, his eyes growing hard as he looked back down the street toward home. But still… He wasn't a good liar. He never had any reason to lie, nor did he want to; but this was for the both of them. It was something that needed to be done. "I'll come up with an excuse tomorrow," he rationalized out loud, shrugging off his concern. The fight from the morning that had pushed him from the shack was still on his mind, but it had been pushed to the back. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all…

* * *

Now, as Wren made his way through the busy streets, he kept a wary eye out for Sting, intending to make good on his decision to buy some of what they needed while also doing something to earn them a little more. If Sting asked, he decided to tell him he was _cleaning_ the bar, not fighting in it. It was more believable and would explain his presence in the bar in case that somehow came up. Either way, it was a way he could keep busy, earn them some extra jewels, and help out his brother all at the same time. What could possibly be wrong with that?

* * *

 _A/N: As promised, I told you this next update wouldn't take long! ;) I hope you liked it! The next one might take a little longer because it doesn't have as much done... but I thank all of you for your lovely reviews (they are **so** motivating), favorites, and follows! This story has certainly turned into more of a "monster" than my partner and I anticipated, but we're enjoying the ride. _

This is my first ever cross over, featuring Fairy Tail and Bleach. This features Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Histugaya, who originally (and this will be explained/become clear later on) is Wren if you didn't figure that out from his description. A lot of things that may be confusing will be explained, I promise. _Did you see the "Easter Eggs"? They will appear in every chapter in some form or another! Let me know if you spotted them! ;)_

 _This idea was entirely created by_ _ **ThunderLordess**_ _and_ _ **Beastly-x-Kettan**_ _(on DeviantArt) - I was just recruited for the writing. I hope you enjoy! There will definitely be more to come!_

 _The usual disclaimer, I do not own Bleach or Fairy Tail or any of their characters. They belong to Tite Kubo and Hiro Mashima respectively._


	5. An Uneasy Agreement

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Lilac taunted, playing with the unlit pipe he held between his teeth as he looked down at Wren.

Nervous, but unwilling to show it, Wren held Lilac's stern gray eyes. "I had fun yesterday," he only partially lied.

The sounds of a fight resounded around them. The bartender from the previous day had recognized Wren the moment he stepped inside the bar and had immediately led him downstairs to see his boss. Lilac had smiled the moment he caught sight of untamed white hair at the bartender's waist. _So the kid can clean up after all, huh,_ he thought to himself as Wren and the bartender made their way to him. With scarcely a look at the bartender, he waved him off, his eyes only on the small boy before him. Despite the reaction the kid's fight had garnered the previous day, he could not be certain it would be so well received a second time. Someone so small and with limited strength could only do so much with his bare hands… Then again, _arming_ someone so young was just as likely to set the crowd off.

"Fun, huh?" One purple eyebrow shot up as he lit the pipe, blowing smoke in Wren's face that made him crinkle his nose. "Raven nearly put you in a coma."

Wren frowned. His back certainly still ached from the hit that threw him across the pit, but he wouldn't go so far as to say he was nearly put in a _coma!_ He _tch'd_ , folded his arms across his chest, and looked away, pointing his chin up in defiance. "If you aren't interested, I'll find somewhere else to go." Without looking at Lilac, he turned to leave.

"Now hold on a minute!" Lilac immediately fell for Wren's bluff, extending a plump hand out to stop him from leaving. Wren looked back at him blandly. "That's not what I said!"

Carefully keeping his face neutral, Wren asked, "Then what were you saying?"

Although the kid's face said otherwise, Lilac felt like he had somehow unwittingly stepped right into a trap. _There's something different about this kid…_ Grinding his teeth together, Lilac puffed on his pipe, cognizant of the sounds of the fight dwindling down behind him. "What I'm saying, is that something like your fight yesterday can't be done everyday. Like it or not, _you_ can't handle it. And the crowd won't pay to watch an overly easy fight."

Furious cold shot through Wren's veins with such force he nearly jumped. _WHAT?!_ He wanted to shout, he wanted to yell, but something in the man's words rang true. His hands curled into frustrated fists, shaking with his impotent rage at his position. He _was_ only five. "Then what _can_ I do?" he chose to ask instead.

Lilac smiled. "Come back here in a few days. I'll have something set up for you then. We'll make a regular thing out of it, so long as you're interested. And, depending on how things go, we might be able to make it more frequent." His rage immediately replaced with curious excitement, Wren cautiously smiled. "Deal?" Lilac finally asked, a glint in his eye as he extended one large hand.

Wren tried to see something wrong with Lilac's plan as his mind worked quickly. Fighting every couple of days wasn't a bad idea. It would give his body time to rest in between bouts and would likely keep Sting from getting suspicious. But would the extra money from _irregular_ fights be enough? He'd have to take his chances. "Deal." His smile growing, he extended his hand and shook Lilac's – his own hand nearly lost in the grown man's grip.

"Good." Lilac glanced over his shoulder as the crowd erupted – the fight was over. "Now do yourself a favor and get out of here."

Not needing to be told twice, Wren listened and slipped out the back.

Once he was back in the sunlight, Wren blinked, shading his eyes with his hand. _So much for earning some extra jewels today,_ he grumbled inwardly as he made his way toward the market. He wanted to get something for Sting and he knew just what his big brother needed.

Sting didn't return home until late that night, slipping into the shack with a heavy sigh and flopping onto the mat with a huff of exhaustion. He was _filthy_ – covered in dirt and soot – his normally blonde hair streaked with gray. The moment he stepped inside, Wren looked up from the fire and crinkled his nose. "Geez, Sting! You couldn't go bathe before coming home?!"

Sting's cerulean eyes snapped open at the sound of irritation in his brother's voice. Anger immediately welled in his chest as he forced himself up to his elbow, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but it dwindled when he noticed Wren squatting before the fire, stirring something in a large pot. "What are you doing?"

Surprised at the lack of an argument, Wren looked up in shock, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Making dinner. What's it look like I'm doing?"

 _What's with the sass?!_ Sting's brow furrowed as he sat up with a grunt. His entire body was sore from working in the mine. He'd taken the job on a whim, drawn by the large pay, and had come to regret it not halfway through the day. Sure, swinging an axe was good exercise, but being cramped in such dark, tiny spaces underground did not suit him. He felt like he was suffocating. Not to mention the fact that he wouldn't get paid until _after_ he had turned in all the ore he had collected… "You didn't have to do that." _What do we have to eat anyway?!_

Wren raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, his hair spilling across his forehead. "If I didn't, then who would?" The smile on his lips took the bite out of his words, but Sting still felt uneasy. "Go bathe, Sting. It will be ready when you get back."

Flopping back onto his back, Sting groaned, "I don't even want to move."

With Sting's eyes closed, Wren was able to truly look at his brother. His face was streaked with soot, lined here and there with clear tracks from sweat. By the way his hands were partially curled, he could tell they hurt from swinging the axe. It was clear the elder Eucliffe was exhausted. He had only mentioned taking the job in the mine in passing, but Wren knew he did it because they were struggling. Seeing his brother in such a state only solidified his resolve. "Well, you're stinking up the whole place, so go bathe before you ruin my appetite."

Sting _tch'd_ and sat up, glowering at his brother as he lurched to his feet. Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed the supplies he needed, not even realizing he was grabbing the new soap Wren had bought the previous day and Wren's other surprises for him as he made his way back out the door. Wren simply smiled and stirred the stew.

"What's gotten into him all of a sudden?" Sting griped as he kicked a loose stone out of his way. Wren was strong-willed, but there was something different about how he was acting. It wasn't until after he was done bathing and he pulled on his clean clothes that he realized why.

"Where the hell did these come from?!" he shouted into the wilderness, staring down in shock at the pants that actually fit, and at the black shirt that came down over his hips rather than hang dangerously high. The sleeves actually came down _below_ his wrists, but given the weather, he rolled them up to his elbows. Both garments were still rather baggy, but the fact that the length was correct attested to their newness. "Wren," he breathed dangerously. Without waiting for his freshly washed clothes to dry, he gathered up his belongings and all but ran home.

"Wren!" he shouted, bursting into the shack.

Expecting the reaction, Wren looked up from the pot, a pleasant and innocent expression plastered to his face. The moment he saw his brother in clothes that fit, he couldn't help but smile, however, and his façade was shattered. "They look good on you!"

"Forget that!" Sting retorted, slashing a hand through the air to silence him. " _Where_ did you get these?"

Rising to his feet, Wren chose his words carefully. He was prepared for this. "I told you I wanted to help out more."

"And I told you, you don't need to."

Wren's eyes hardened into ice. "But look what happens when I do."

Light flashed through Sting's eyes, the white halo forming around his vision until he shook his head to clear it. "Where did you get them, Wren?" he demanded. "Did you steal these?" He still resented the fact that they ever had to resort to stealing before in the first place.

"I _bought_ them, Sting!"

" _HOW?!_ " Sting's clear voice roared through the small shack.

Anger flooded through Wren with such speed it surprised him. He expected Sting to be surprised and maybe less than happy, but he hadn't expected _this._ "Why is it such a big deal that _I_ took it upon _myself_ to find a job to do to help us out?! I _earned_ the jewels! And I wanted to do something nice for you," he spat, feeling the familiar cold creeping into his veins. "I'll try not to make that mistake again."

Momentarily speechless, Sting stood before Wren, his mouth hanging open. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this!"

Sighing, Sting forced himself to relax, the light fully fading from his vision as he dropped his heated gaze. The tension that had been wound through his shoulders left him as he slumped to the floor. He was tired… So tired… "You should have talked to me about it."

"I tried."

 _Is this what we're reduced to now? Sneaking around and arguing?_ "There are more important things we need than clothes, Wren," he softly admonished, hating himself for saying it even as he said it.

Wren scoffed and moved to dish out their dinner. "How do you expect to keep getting jobs if your clothes don't even fit?"

 _He's got a damn point,_ Sting sighed, taking the bowl his brother offered him as though it were an olive branch. He looked into the creamy substance with wonder. _Where did he get the ingredients for this?!_ "You pay for this too?"

Smiling, Wren chose to be careful. "I did, but I also got a recipe to help spread the ingredients as far as possible." He had picked the ingredients for the stew carefully, choosing ingredients that were still relatively cheap, but not the bottom of the barrel like they usually had to settle for. The stew was thick with the protein they needed – beef – which was a rarity for them, and vegetables. Carrots, celery, onion, and potatoes filled out the stew and the mixture of herbs and spices he'd used for seasoning had the entire shack smelling so delicious it made his mouth water while he was still cooking.

"What sort of job did you do?" He couldn't help it. He had to ask. Even as he gingerly swallowed a spoonful of stew and wanted to moan in happiness, he had to interrogate his brother. _This is amazing! Where the hell did he learn how to make this?!_

 _This is it,_ Wren thought to himself, carefully looking at the spoonful of stew he held in his hand. "Cleaning."

"Cleaning?"

"Yep." He smiled as he swallowed the stew, the warmth hitting his belly pleasantly. He hadn't eaten nearly all day. While he had used a good portion of his winnings on the soap, clothes for Sting, and the food, there was still plenty left; but he couldn't let Sting know that. He'd have to be careful with where he kept the jewels and how he spent it. If new items started showing up too quickly, Sting would get suspicious – even more so than he already was.

Immediately feeling better as the stew warmed his bitter insides, Sting chuckled. "Can't imagine why anyone would want a shrimp like you cleaning!" He waited until Wren looked up, his eyebrow twitching. "What'd you do? Get a ladder for the cabinets? Or did you climb?" When Wren's face darkened in anger, his chuckle turned into a fully-belly laugh.

"Sting!"

A few days later, Sting was still stuck working in the mine. He hoped one more day was all he would need to collect his remaining quota of ore. If it wasn't, he was fairly certain he would go mad. His hands were bandaged and blistered, ravaged from the hours of swinging the pickaxe. Every muscle in his body ached, particularly his back and shoulders. While he was not unknown to manual labor, mining was in a league of its own, and his scrawny 12-year-old body just wasn't used to it. Although he hated to admit it, if it weren't for Wren's resourcefulness and nutritious meals, he doubted he would be able to keep up the strenuous routine for as long as he had. Granted, he would never admit that to the younger Eucliffe.

As much as he disliked their uneasy agreement, Wren's insistence on taking jobs _had_ helped them. The day after he gifted Sting with new clothes, he had grudgingly agreed to get himself new clothes at the nearest opportunity. Sting insisted the big expenses would still fall on his shoulders, but he supposed letting his brother handle little expenses couldn't be all that bad, so long as he was safe about it. It still meant that he spent more time off on his own, out in the world, surrounded by strangers at such a young age. And that didn't sit well with him, no matter how he tried to look at it. But what else could they do?

Thoughts of his younger brother's well-being plagued him. Was he doing the right thing, leaving him alone for so long each day? Was he doing the right thing letting him take on jobs of his own? How could he be sure he wasn't royally screwing everything up? Just before Sting stepped into the darkness of the mine, he paused, looking back in the direction of their shack. _Please, be safe, Wren._

Wren spent the morning cleaning up the shack and inventorying their supplies. He had found a good place to hide his extra stash of jewels, spending considerable time working loose a board in the floor and then hollowing out the space beneath it. It was in a corner of the shack – not somewhere Sting would step and notice a difference in the sound. While he still didn't view it as a permanent solution, it had helped him pass the time while waiting to go back to the bar. The day was finally upon him. His wounds were healed, and he felt well rested. He was ready for this!

Deciding it was better not to go too early, and not to draw any undue attention to himself, Wren covered his hair with a black cloth, successfully containing the unruly locks although some still peeked out from beneath. While he had bought himself new clothes to appease Sting, he didn't want to risk ruining them, so he put his old clothes back on, the nearly ragged garments that stopped just short above his ankles and showed his abdomen if he lifted his arms high above his head. Slipping his practice sword through a loop in his belt, he took to the streets with a purpose.

Whether it was the force in his step, the gleam in his eye, or the swing of the practice sword at his hip, Wren couldn't say, but people in the market avoided him as he made his way through town. When people didn't step out of his way, he easily slipped around them, his feet silent on the dirt walkways. Even though he knew Sting was in the mine, he was still cautious, ever alert for his brother's presence as he neared the bar. The raucous sounds coming from within greeted his ears and immediately increased his heart rate, and he gripped the end of his practice sword in anticipation. Slipping along a gap between buildings, he cast one last wary look around his surroundings before darting inside.

"Kid!" the bartender immediately greeted him with a wide, toothy grin. Wren smiled despite himself, and raised a hand in greeting. He still didn't know the man's name… Before he could say anything, the bartender nodded toward the stairs leading to the basement. By now, Wren knew his way. "The boss has been expecting you."

The words should have been cause for concern, but they weren't. Wren simply nodded and made his way to the basement, slipping down the stairs without a sound. The crowd in the basement was just as rowdy as it was when he first came upon the establishment. Bodies were packed so closely together, they jostled each other side to side, throwing glowering looks at their fellow gamblers and would-be rabble-makers. The contestants in the pit were growling at each other, hurling insults and spitting curses as well as exchanging blows. Wren heard more than one curse that he had never heard before and his cheeks darkened, much to his chagrin.

"Ah, Kid! I've been wondering if you were going to show up again!"

Cringing at the awful nickname, Wren looked up at Lilac, who smiled down at him. "You told me to wait a few days," he deadpanned.

"I-well-yeah, I did," Lilac stuttered. He scowled for a moment, his hand reaching up to cup his chin as he took in Wren's appearance. It didn't take a genius to tell the kid was trying to be incognito. _Who is he trying to hide from?_ Not for the first time, his eye fell to the practice sword hanging from Wren's hip. "You any good with that thing?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of Wren's mouth, his eyes flashing as he looked up at Lilac. "I could show you just how good I am with it," he challenged.

Lilac smiled, his gray eyes sparkling in the dim light of the basement. He was hoping the kid would say something like that. "Can't put it up for collateral then. How much of your winnings have you got left?"

The smirk falling, Wren reached into his pocket. He had not brought everything with him, but had wisely brought a good amount – he had a feeling he would need it. What he pulled from his pocket he dumped unceremoniously into Lilac's waiting hand. Lilac pawed through the jewels, his eyes glittering even as he tried to hide his excitement. Clearly, the kid was frugal! "This will do."

Adrenaline was kicking in. Wren could feel it in the sudden tightness in his stomach, the way he felt lighter and yet heavier at the same time. His heart was pounding but yet had ample reserves. He felt like a strung trap, ready to spring. Lilac's next words shot a tremor of fear down his spine, but only for a moment before his cold resolve pushed it aside. "Much like before, there will be no pads, and no holds barred. Your opponent is well-known for his sword skills. You better not disappoint."

Wren turned to look at Lilac from over his shoulder, stifling all concerns about his upcoming fight. "Just so happens that I am too," he answered with a smile, before heading to the stairs leading to the pit.

The next couple minutes passed in a whirlwind. The previous match ended in a blur, both opponents bloody and dirty, the victor only clear because he landed a solid punch that bounced the other guy's head off the wall, rendering him unconscious. Roars of excitement and disapproval erupted from the crowd as the loser was quickly dragged from the pit while the winner paraded around, pumping his fists in bloody victory. He sneered at Wren as he walked past, but said nothing. The next thing Wren knew, Lilac was shoving him forward into the pit with such force that he had to take several steps in order to keep from falling flat onto his face. He turned to glower at the rotund bar owner, only to find him addressing the crowd.

"Ladies and gentleman!" He waited several moments for the din to quiet down. "Some of you may remember Kid, the tyke who managed to defeat Raven!" Cheers and whistles erupted, making Wren blush and shuffle his feet. "He's back!" The cheers grew louder. "This time, he'll be using a weapon." The crowd went shock-silent, their eyes fixed on Wren, who was still looking at the ground. "Now, I know this isn't something we normally do down here, so the weapons are wooden, but they are still solid and will still do harm." He leveled the spectators with his eyes, drawing them in with his pregnant pause. "It took some work, but I was able to bring in someone who hasn't been here in a while. Someone who takes great pride in his experience with a blade." As he spoke, he turned to the stairs, sweeping his arm as he introduced Wren's opponent. Wren followed his hand like a hawk. "Ladies and gentleman, it is my pleasure to introduce, Slash!"

Quiet filled the basement until Slash stepped into the light. The man was tall, although not as tall as Raven, and although he was slighter of build, it was clear he was no slouch. His hair was jet-black with a streak of blood red flowing through the left side that matched the color of his eyes. Dressed in traditional Japanese garb, he wore a red shitagi (he had already removed his black kosode) and a black hakama. He moved with the easy confidence and grace of an athlete, his longer hair flowing easily around his face and nearly touching his shoulders as he smiled at the small boy before him. "Lilac, you flatter me!" he taunted, twirling his longer (and more appropriately sized) practice sword at his side. The spectators went wild, the women screaming and holding their cheeks in excitement, while the men shouted and hollered, hammering their fists against the rails of the pit.

Smiling, Lilac ignored the comment, stepping back as Wren stepped forward. The trio were oblivious to the crowd as one of Lilac's lackeys went about collecting bids. Wren had to look up at his opponent, which was expected, but still grated on his nerves as his opponent looked down on him. The arrogant smile the man threw at him didn't help matters. "Now, anything goes, you two aren't limited to just your swords. But I want a _clean_ fight, got it?"

Wren and Slash nodded their agreement. Turquoise eyes met red and it was as though tangible sparks flew between them, although what ignited and cultivated such sudden anger between them was beyond even them. "Begin!"

The crystal clear command sliced through the air with the crispness of a blade, punctuating the clamor of the crowd into breathless silence. Wren's hand was on the grip of his practice sword; pulling it from his belt before he even sucked in a breath, the movement such second nature to him it was as natural and easy as breathing. Slash, who already had his sword in hand, took a step to the side, his eyes on the white-haired child before him, curious to see what he would do. Wren did as expected and countered the step with one of his own, but the ease of his movement, the way he appeared to float and move without thought or reason struck a chord within the more seasoned fighter.

 _He's not as brash as Raven,_ Wren thought, his eye on Slash's arms rather than the sword. He knew from practice that to watch the sword was to see the move coming too late. Slash moved with precision and without wasted energy. His steps were small and easy, clearly testing the waters even though he faced a much smaller opponent. It was impossible not to let pride trickle into his heart with this knowledge. Here was an adult treating him as a potential threat! He couldn't ignore that!

Across the pit, Slash's eyes narrowed at Wren's fiercely stoic stance. His brows were furrowed beneath the black cloth covering his hair, but his eyes sparked with excitement and intelligence. Even so, _nothing_ the boy did gave away a _hint_ of what he was capable of or what he intended to do. This was unknown territory to the older swordsman and even though he had trained his fair share of younger men in his day, there was something about the child before him that made him uneasy.

The calm shuffling had gone on for long enough. Wren wasn't accustomed to so much bristling before moving to blows. _What's with this guy?!_ His lip wanted to curl in irritation, but he resisted, not wanting to give anything away to his opponent. Still drawing deep and even breaths through his slightly parted lips, Wren feigned to the right before attacking to the left, which was his weaker side, but Slash didn't know that.

A blur of black and streak of white was all that Slash could see before instinct told him to drop his sword into a block. Wood met wood with a solid _clack_ , and the force behind the blow surprised him nearly as much as the speed of the attack. He had no sooner blocked the attack than the blur spun away, darting behind him and actually striking him in the back of the leg before he could even react. The solid construction of Wren's practice sword connected low on Slash's calf, activating his tendon painfully. It was reflex for his leg to jerk up as he grunted from the sharp pain suddenly stabbing down into his heel and foot. It was anger that made him swing wildly behind him.

Wren saw the retaliation coming from a mile away and ducked below the wild swing, easily stepping out of reach of Slash's blade as the elder swordsman hobbled. He was too proud to utter a cry of pain, but the twist to his face told Wren how much discomfort he was in. He could empathize – he'd felt it before too. Even so, before Slash could fully recover, Wren bolted forward, returning to the front of his opponent and slashing upward, aiming for the man's side. Slash barely blocked in time, their swords clacking together with less force this time as Wren's sword bounced away harmlessly.

"I can't believe Kid actually has Slash on the _defensive!_ " Lilac hissed, his eyes wide as Wren danced around the crowd (and odd favoring) favorite.

Before Slash could fully recover and put full weight back on his leg, Wren attacked with an overhead blow, pulling on his reserves of strength as he aimed for Slash's arm. So far, he had been moving too quickly for the older and slower man to keep up, especially after experiencing such a mind-altering blow. A roar grew deep in his throat as he approached, Slash fully aware of his plan anyway, as the narrowing of his eyes suggested. Wren was aware of the way the other swordsman's feet shifted, the subtle change in his stance as his shoulders changed from a frontal face to a side stance; but Wren had anticipated this, and again feigned to the side as though he would put all his strength and energy in this one attack.

Slash's sword was moving discreetly as Wren barreled toward him, still moving quickly but no longer being so cautious. A smirk twisted the older man's lips as he turned, foreseeing the attack just as Wren changed his pattern. _What the?!_

Wren's roar increased in intensity as the now familiar and encouraging cold pooled in his veins and pumped through his heart. Strength he didn't know he had flowed through him as he planted his foot for the feign, taking a big risk in exposing his back as he turned, but counting on his speed to protect him. His eyes may have deceived him, but he could swear he saw Slash's breath when he exhaled, a look of utter confusion crossing the man's face as Wren spun in a whirl of black before him.

His hold changing from overhead to one level from his side, Wren spun through his attack, putting all of his weight behind the blow. His sword hit home, connecting solidly with Slash's side before following through with Wren's momentum to whack him on the back. The older man grunted and grimaced, immediately crumpling toward that side, and now Wren was _sure_ he saw his breath like a plume when he exhaled. Blue tinted the edges of his vision as Wren pivoted, swinging his sword elegantly at his side before bringing it high over his head for the final blow. But Slash wasn't ready to go down so easily. He was nearly incapacitated, sure, but he reached out with one long arm, landing a solid hit to Wren's core that knocked the wind out of him and shoved him back several feet.

"You haven't beat me yet, you cocky shit!"

Wren smirked and coughed, his insides quivering from the force of the strike. Before he could recover, Slash was lumbering for him, unsteady and uncoordinated from the pain as he drew his sword back before swinging it forward with enough force to rattle Wren's arms when he brought his sword up to block. "Maybe not, but I had you on the ropes!" Wren taunted.

Slash's lip curled in irritation and before Wren could react, a fist he hadn't seen coming connected with his jaw. He was thrown to the ground with a grunt, his vision swimming as pain shot through his jaw into his head and neck, and erupted from where his left temple smacked the ground. The iron-filled taste of blood was trickling into his mouth, but he wasn't the least bit sure where it was coming from. _Damn it!_

"What's that?" Slash asked, still unsteady as he approached the fallen boy.

Blinking to clear his clouding vision, Wren clenched his hand into a fist and used it to push himself to his feet. The black cloth covering his hair had been knocked askew, unruly white locks now falling across his forehead as he looked up at his adversary. The blue tint to his vision was gone, as tendrils of black now took its place, threatening to pull him into their promise of blissful peace; but the cold remained in his heart and veins, seeping into the pit of his stomach. _I can't lose!_

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that hit too much for you, Kid?" Slash taunted, smiling wryly as Wren shakily got to his feet.

"Shut up!" Wren hissed, spitting blood before wiping the small bit that had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. The icy glare in his eye made him look far older than his mere 5 years, and Slash shivered as the temperature dropped around them once more. Before anyone could register what was happening, Wren had pounced, his slashes and parries so fast it was nearly impossible to keep up if not for the sound of wood smacking wood as Slash managed to hold him at bay. Regardless, Slash's face paled as he tried to ward off the sudden onslaught. While he managed to inflict some hits himself, he was soon covered in bruises, his clothing ripped from the strength of Wren's blows. It was as Wren knocked Slash's blade aside and then spun into a handless cartwheel, his foot connecting solidly with Slash's face, that Slash was finally knocked to the ground with a thud that was drowned out by the gasp of the crowd.

Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, Wren followed through on his attack immediately. Slash was not even fully on the ground before his sword was at the man's neck, just grazing the skin in what would have been a potential killing blow had the blade been real. He stood over Slash with his lips pulled back in a wild grimace, his chest heaving from the effort, as sweat and blood dripped from his brow. He was not unscathed as his clothes also had several rents in the fabric, revealing his bruised and welted skin beneath; but Slash was worse off. His shitagi was ripped in several places, including a long tear from Wren's previous nearly match-ending blow that showed just how much damage Wren had done to the man. Blood dripped from him in several places, darkening the red shitagi he wore that now clung to him from sweat. Once he felt Wren's wooden practice sword graze his neck, he looked up at the boy in utter disbelief.

"There you have it! Kid surprises us, yet again!"

The spectators, who had been stunned into silence throughout the match, exploded into cries of happiness and excitement, as well as more than a few bellows of rage. Wren took the cue and stepped away from his opponent, lowering his sword to his side and bowing. Slash hastily regained his feet and returned the bow, although his red eyes burned.

"Thank you for an honorable match," Wren muttered as he returned to his full height and returned his sword to his belt. He was more than a little uneasy when Slash failed to do the same.

" _Tch,_ " the older man rolled his eyes, before his eyes landed on Lilac, who had appeared in the pit. "Can't say I was expecting this," Slash grumbled, looking down at the practice sword in his bruised hand. "But here."

Wren caught the sword that was thrown at him and looked at it as though unsure if it were a snake that would bite him, or a prized gift. "What," he started.

"It was my collateral," Slash explained before indicating Lilac with his head. "The old man kind of insisted."

Having no idea what to do or say, Wren simply looked at the practice sword in his hand, then at Slash, then at Lilac, his mouth hanging open in surprise. When his eyes turned back to Slash, he was already departing the pit, picking up his previously discarded kosode and swinging it over his shoulder as he left. He spared some parting words with Lilac before disappearing.

"Well, well, well! You've done it again!" Lilac exclaimed, his smile nearly reaching from ear to ear as he approached Wren. " _And_ you've got some very interesting booty!"

Wren was still surprised by his winning of the sword. "Why would you insist he put this up for collateral?"

Lilac's smile returned to a more normal size, but the light didn't leave his eyes. His lackeys were collecting the winnings, and given the huge upset of the match, they would be _substantial._ "Considering what you almost lost during your first fight, I thought it fitting." He clapped Wren on the shoulder, not missing the way he flinched from the contact. "Besides, you're about to outgrow that one," he indicated Wren's most prized possession, hanging at his hip. "If you want to keep fighting, you're going to need something more your size."

"But this is too big for me," Wren immediately argued.

A purple eyebrow rose, eying him, as Lilac's smile twisted. "Is it?"

Wren's eyes widened as he looked at the sword in his hand. Was it?

Wren found himself at the clinic not an hour later, sneaking inside with his hair covered once more. While he needed treatment himself, Sting also could use something to help his hands (he couldn't let his brother suffer, no matter what he had said), but he couldn't explain his injuries without compromising his position and he didn't believe any health professional worth their salt would let him walk out of there without questioning him. He was in the process of sneaking behind a curtain when a soft voice stopped him and he cringed.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?" There was no mistaking it. The woman was talking to him. Trying to smile, Wren slowly turned around, his smile crooked from the split in his lip and the swelling of the right side of his face. The nurse no sooner saw him, than gasped. "Oh my goodness, are you all right?"

Wren nodded, adjusting the weight of the bigger practice sword he now carried slung across his back. "I just came for some bandages, Ma'am."

The nurse put her hands on her hips and furrowed her brow sternly. "I think you need something more than that," she argued. When Wren opened his mouth to speak but didn't know what to say, she took his shoulder and led him behind the curtain he had been sneaking into. "Come with me."

Having no other choice than to be led by the nurse, Wren obeyed the nurse's command, remaining silent as she bid him to sit on the exam table and remove his shirt. She hissed at the sight of his bruises, but quickly set to work gently cleaning them and checking for any signs of fracture. "Do you have somewhere to stay?" she asked, not unkindly.

 _Great. She thinks I'm homeless._ "Yes."

Her eyebrow rose as blue eyes that reminded him of deep pools of water met his. "Is it safe for you there?"

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. "Of course it is!"

She stood up, dropping the dirtied rag in the bowl of warm water she had gathered. 'Then are you going to tell me what happened?"

Wren swallowed, eying her pensively. "Do I have to?"

Pursing her lips to the side, the nurse turned her back to him, pulling items from the cabinet before bending over to get something else. "You've been through a lot. I would prefer it if you did. I need to know you are safe."

"I am."

She turned back to him, her arms folded sternly across her chest. She was dressed all in white, her uniform crisp and almost making her glow. Something about the contrast of her hair and her uniform made her seem otherworldly. Her hair was held back in a loose ponytail, the hair gracefully swinging side-to-side with her movements and reaching well past the middle of her back. There was kindness in her face and in her movements; a gentleness in her voice he hadn't heard in a long time, despite what she was saying. "Your appearance says otherwise."

Her words were familiar. He'd said something very similar to Sting. "I promise you, I'm safe at home. I just need some patching up." He hesitated before adding, "And something for blisters and muscle aches for my brother, if you don't mind."

Surprise was written across her face, but it was quickly replaced by concern. "Your brother? What's wrong with your brother?"

Relieved to have the topic off of him, Wren rubbed his hands together. "He's been working in the mine," he began.

She interrupted him. "Say no more." In three short steps, she was before him, holding a small stack of black clothes, a plush towel, several small jars, and a roll of bandages. "We have a bath. I'd like you to take a long, warm soak. Put these on when you're done and come back here. I'll tend your wounds and bandage you up. Then I'll show you what to do for your brother."

Wren's eyes widened as his mouth fell open in surprise. He certainly hadn't been expecting this! "T-thank you!" he whispered.

Her hand ruffled his hair before she shooed him off to the baths. Wren was quick to comply, leaving her to look at his retreating back, with sword hanging from his hip and strapped across his back, her brow furrowed in confusion. She'd seen a lot of things in her time, but this kid was something else. _What's with this kid?_

Within two hours, Wren was bathed, cleaned, medicated, and bandaged; as well as educated in what to do and what to give his brother for his aches and pains from the mine. The clothes the nurse gave him, she insisted he keep, and he decided to use them for his fighting clothes, seeing as they were traditional Japanese attire and would allow for greater freedom of movement, and that way he could keep them secret from his brother – he'd have to change again as soon as he got home. The nurse, whose name he discovered was Retsu, had iced his face while she worked, bandaging his upper left arm where Slash had managed to land a rather fierce blow; showing him how to wrap the bandage and secure it on his own and how to work potions into his skin that would help aid the healing process. To his pleasant surprise, she had sent him with the same materials to take home. Although she had not said as much, Wren felt as though he had just made an ally.

As soon as he was done at the clinic, Wren headed back into the market to purchase some food for dinner. He decided to get something a little fancier in celebration of his large success (and because he was _starving_ ) and what he was sure was also a successful day for his brother. He entered the shack with a smile on his face, surprised when Sting was already there.

"Where have you been?" Sting harshly greeted him.

Wren's eyes snapped to his brother, his bag of food that he'd held slung over his shoulder slipping down his arm to hit the floor with a thud. "Sting?! What are you doing home already?"

Sting's eyes narrowed at Wren's lack of an answer. "Wren," he started, pointedly dropping his gaze to the sack in Wren's hand.

"Oh, this!" Wren lifted the burlap bag of food, carefully trying to push the longer sword at his back to a near vertical angle so that his body would hide it better. "I found a good sale!" he lied, surprised at how easily the lie came.

"What are you wearing?"

Annoyed at getting interrogated, Wren's smile fell. Not immediately answering his brother, he made his way to the small table they used to prepare their meals, carefully setting his two swords aside and silently praying Sting hadn't noticed the additional object. "My own clothes were practically destroyed during work today. I was given these to replace them." At least it wasn't a total lie.

"You were _given_ those?" Sting was rightfully skeptical. People were rarely kind out of the goodness of their heart.

Wren turned, his eyes flashing in the dim light of the shack. _Curse Sting and his observations!_ "Yes." He pulled out the ointment he'd gotten for Sting's hands and the potion he'd been given to help with pain. The supplies had cost more than he'd expected, but out of everything, he felt they were the most important. "And I managed to get these today." He held them out for his brother to take, averting his eyes because of their earlier argument. "For you."

Sting took the offered objects, his eyes widening the moment he discovered what they were. "Where did you get these?!" he whispered. "Just where were you today?"

"The clinic," Wren admitted with a shrug. At least he _had_ actually been there.

"Wren," Sting breathed, appreciation welling in his chest more than he could have expected. Here Wren was, doing such thoughtful things for him, when all he could do was yell at him?! What kind of brother was he, anyway?! "Thank you."

Wren came forward, smiling even though it pained him to do so. "It's the least I could do." Although he wouldn't admit it, a large part of him wished Sting would hug him. Some sort of comforting physical contact was very desirable – he needed it after the beating he'd received earlier. He needed it even more because of the growing distance between the two of them. Sting, ever his father's son, did _not_ hug him.

"Well, I finally completed the mine job today!" he exclaimed, turning to put the potion down but opening the ointment for his hands and rubbing some along the blisters. "I got off early." It was then that Wren noticed Sting was already bathed – he was fresh and clean and had perhaps even taken a nap, given his sudden pleasant demeanor. "Got all my ore turned in, and look at how much we got paid!"

Sting had to pull a leather pouch out in order to show all of the jewels, tugging on the strap to open it. Light danced off the many colored jewels within, and Wren smiled, his eyes soaking up the colors and reflecting them back as his breath sucked in. He'd never seen so many jewels in one place before. "Wow!"

"Right?!" Sting exclaimed, smiling widely. "We've got enough here to maybe get a better place, especially with winter coming soon."

As excited as Wren was for his brother's success, he couldn't stop thinking about how easy it would be to stash some of his winnings in with his brother's earnings. There was so much of it there that Sting surely wouldn't notice. Were things finally starting to look up for them? "You really want to leave this place?" Wren cautiously asked. "You might have to take more jobs like that in order to keep affording it."

Sting frowned for a moment, his hand on his chin. "Do you really like working, Wren?"

Wren smiled, again forcing through the pain for his brother's sake. He was lucky the shack was so dark so that Sting hadn't noticed the bruise beginning to take darken on his jaw. Retsu had rubbed some lotion into it to keep the bruising to a minimum, but she warned him it was still going to happen. "I do."

Appearing to think for a moment, Sting looked back at the jewels, then back at his brother, light dancing in his eyes. "Then we'll do it."

His mouth falling open, Wren was shocked by the change in his brother. Had _one_ good job, some good meals, and some new clothes really made that much of a difference? Apparently it had…

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry this update took a while! Ideas kind of stalled and then I was busy working on some other stories, but I hope you liked it! This certainly took on a mind of its own. I wasn't expecting to write another fight scene... It just sort of happened, lol. The next one might take a little longer again because it doesn't have as much done... but I thank all of you for your lovely reviews (they are **so** motivating), favorites, and follows! This story has certainly turned into more of a "monster" than my partner and I anticipated, but we're enjoying the ride. Things are about to get serious!_

This is my first ever cross over, featuring Fairy Tail and Bleach. This features Sting Eucliffe and Toshiro Histugaya, who originally (and this will be explained/become clear later on) is Wren if you didn't figure that out from his description. A lot of things that may be confusing will be explained, I promise. _Did you see the "Easter Eggs"? They will appear in every chapter in some form or another! Let me know if you spotted them! ;) And did you notice the other soul reaper who made an appearance?! Hehe..._

 _This original idea was entirely created by_ _ **ThunderLordess**_ _and_ _ **Beastly-x-Kettan**_ _(on DeviantArt) - I was recruited for the writing and its evolved from there. I hope you enjoy! There will definitely be more to come!_

 _The usual disclaimer, I do not own Bleach or Fairy Tail or any of their characters. They belong to Tite Kubo and Hiro Mashima respectively._


End file.
